The Beauty of Freedom
by caisha702
Summary: History will remember me as the first to be chosen for the Victor's Quarter Quell. It will forget that my story has a beginning as well as an end, but a beginning it has and this is it. This is the 66th Hunger Games. This is my story - Cashmere's POV
1. Chapter 1

**So...it will most likely be the last time I say this, but this is Chapter One... I couldn't resist making up my own arena and even though I find writing District 2 much easier, I thought she deserved a bit more than Katniss's recollection of hammock-making in training and the chance to tell the Girl-on-Fire that she looks ridiculous in her wedding dress ;)**

**As ever, if you recognise it from the book then it belongs to the fabulous Suzanne Collins - this is her universe, I just like to play in it ;) (And the lyric in this chapter is from the song 'Feeling Good' - I know the version sung by Nina Simone...)**

Chapter One

The sun always shines in District One. That is what they say in the other districts, though I imagine they are probably talking figuratively rather than literally since the Capitol has seen to it that each district knows very little about the others. People don't starve to death on the streets here like they do in District Twelve, people aren't murdered in their beds for the smallest crime or indiscretion like they sometimes are in District Two, according to the rumours anyway. I wouldn't know very much about that, but if you ask me then the atrocities that exist across Panem are as prevalent in the place I call home as they are everywhere else. The only difference is that District One is stylish and sophisticated enough to be subtle about it.

The sun has been shining since dawn today. I should know as I was up before daybreak, busy trying to convince myself that I was merely taking my time deciding what to wear and making sure that I look perfect for my moment in the spotlight. What I was really doing was thinking about how my brother is going to react when I win the race to volunteer for the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games.

It was this time last year when my life changed forever. Before the reaping for the Sixty-fifth Games, I had lived as happily as it is possible for a daughter of one of Panem's districts to live. I am of a privileged family, I wanted for nothing, and I never had to face the world alone because I had Gloss and Sapphire. For as long as I can remember, it was always us against the world. Together we faced the politics of District One, the demands of our extensive and powerful family and the threat of its rivals. Together we were successful, together we had fun. Since we were very young, our plan had always been to compete in the Hunger Games and we trained virtually every day. It was one of the few ways to gain independence that were available to us.

However much I believed she was my sister in my heart, I wasn't related to Sapphire by blood. She was the daughter of my mother's best friend and she came to live with us when I was four years old and Gloss only three. I still don't think my father wanted her but it was the only way to keep her out of the Community Home, and for what was probably the first time in the history of their marriage, my mother won the argument and Sapphire stayed. She was company for Gloss and I, who were far too much hassle for our parents to deal with, especially since Father already had my elder sister, Satin, to inherit the family fortune and therefore had little use for us until we grew old enough to be useful to him.

It is true that I had always dreamed of going to the Capitol, but as she got older, Sapphire seemed to take the Games a lot more seriously than I did. I didn't think anything of it and wasn't even sure that our plan to win three consecutive Games as we each turned eighteen was going ahead, until one day, as her reaping drew near, she became totally obsessed with her training virtually overnight. I had asked her why it suddenly meant more to her than it ever had before and she told me that winning the Games was the only way for her to gain her freedom. She told me that she felt chained to my father by the debt that had existed between the two of them since she was five years old and that as it was only a matter of time before he called in that debt, she had better find an alternative. It wasn't until nearly a year later that I truly understood what she meant.

As everyone in Panem knows, Sapphire didn't win the Sixty-fifth Games. They were won by that boy from District Four, the one I hate more than any other person in the world. Finnick Odair. The Capitol's golden boy, the most attractive and physically perfect creature to ever grace the earth with his presence if they are to be believed. I can't see it. Whenever I see his bronze hair, his sea-green eyes staring at me through the television screen, all I see is the boy who killed my sister. That is one of the reasons I will be volunteering today. For Sapphire. Because if I can get to the Capitol, if I can win the Games, then I will be a victor just like he is, and then maybe one day in the near or distant future, I will be able to make him pay for what he did. Before her death, the idea of the Hunger Games and the Capitol was all a big, glorious dream of bright lights, expensive dresses and unimaginable riches, riches that are mine and not my father's, but now it is about more than that. Now it is about revenge.

That is what I will tell my brother. I will tell him what he already knows and hope that it is enough to make him forgive me. For he has never dreamed of the Games like Sapphire and I did. He trained alongside us and is probably better at fighting than I am, but his heart was never in it. Gloss prefers peace to war, he always has, and I hope that he doesn't hate me when I reach that stage first.

I take a deep breath and stop to look up at the sky as I approach the main square. It had been raining on the day of Sapphire's reaping, I remember that because it was so unusual. Now it is sunny for me and I hope that is a good omen.

* * *

The crowd in the main square is the same every year, everyone dressed in the best clothes they own, desperate to see and be seen by the richest and best-known people in the district. Sapphire used to call it 'Showtime' not 'Reaping Day', and that is exactly what it is. It is a continuous performance, a parade of people who will stop at nothing to impress their rivals and subtly continue the political wrangling that is part of everyday life in District One. Competing to win the reaping, even if you have no real intention of being the first to reach the stage is a matter of pride and honour here, and they don't even bother to segregate people according to age anymore. They all know it never prevented the mad, frantic rush that makes our reaping the highlight of the day for the people watching in the Capitol, so one year they simply decided not to bother.

So here I stand, right at the front of the crowd, closest to the stage, dressed in my finest sky-blue dress and pretending not to notice how everyone stops and stares. People have always stared at me because of my beauty, even from a young age, and I would be lying if I said that I don't like it when they do. It may sound arrogant, to think of myself as being so very beautiful, but why deny the truth? Surely false modesty is worse?

I will need all of my beauty and my knowledge of how to use it to my advantage now, because this year I will volunteer and win. For Sapphire. I will succeed where she failed. I will win for both of us.

* * *

I raise my hand to the jewel I wear around my neck, twirling the sapphire around and around without really thinking. I have worn it since they returned it with her body from the Capitol and it will be my district token when it is my turn. It is then that the sea of people parts for a second and I see Gloss, my beloved brother, scanning the crowd and obviously looking for me. I dive behind a group of people, who look startled by my sudden appearance in their group but are from a much lesser family than I, and therefore aren't about to start questioning my actions. I am unused to hiding from Gloss, but I know that it is what I must do. If I am standing by his side when Septimus calls for volunteers then he will stop me, and I can't let that happen.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the reaping for the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games!"

The clock in the square sounds half-past eight and like clockwork, our mayor recites the Treaty of Treason just like he does every year. I don't know why he bothers really. District One was never really part of the original rebellion in the first place, not like a lot of the other districts were. Here we live comfortable lives and have nice things. We are happy. Well as happy as people ever can be anyway.

The Capitol let my family run one of their jewellers, a massive warehouse where people from my district design and make jewellery for the people of the Capitol. As the head of the family, my father has ultimate control, as his father did before him and his father's father before that. The Capitol gets it's jewellery and in return they make my father rich and powerful in the place where he lives. Everyone's happy. No complaints from my family, and yet here I am, listening to the same dull and boring speech all over again.

I turn away from the stage and a young man about my age catches my eye. He winks at me with a casual arrogance shared by many of the boys I know and I narrow my eyes, looking away quickly. I don't actually know him but I know his type. He wants me for the reasons that boys like him always want me, and yet he has nothing he can give me in return. I have more status than he does, my family has greater wealth than his, his excessive arrogance is certainly not attractive when there is so little to justify it and I sincerely doubt that he is intelligent enough to hold the simplest of conversations. Harsh I might be, but the world is a cruel place and a girl like me has to be realistic. What is the point of settling for less than second best when I am going to become a Hunger Games victor? When I have my victory then I won't need anyone else, I will be able to choose someone for myself only if I want to and there is nothing that that boy, my family or even my father will be able to do about it. I will be able to marry a person whom I love, a person who loves me and not just this body and the power gained by marrying my father's daughter, or I will be able to choose not to marry at all. Most of the new tributes from the other districts will see the Games as a death sentence, I will see it as freedom.

* * *

I suddenly lift my head back up and focus on the stage when I hear the mayor welcome our Capitol escort, deliberately shaking my golden-blonde hair and smirking when the boy stares at me, completely entranced. The mayor doesn't call the familiar name of Septimus Eaglewood, who has been our tribute's chaperone for at least as long as I've been alive, but another name, one that I've never heard before. A man by the name of Falco Hazelwell.

My eyes follow the man who rises gracefully from his chair to cross to the front of the stage, and I feel only surprise that I didn't notice him before. I would guess him to be in his late twenties, tall and dark-haired with almost honey coloured skin that I somehow know is natural rather than the handiwork of one of the big city's many cosmetic surgeons. He stares down at us all with not a hint of fear or apprehension in his expression or body language. He looks arrogant but not in the way that boy had looked arrogant. This man has the confident air of one whom nobody questions, who fully believes that the self-confidence he possesses so completely is justified. I look up at him and find myself hoping that I will get the chance to find out the truth of that belief.

However the second that Falco Hazelwell begins to speak, all thoughts of him temporarily leave my mind. My eyes scan the stage, moving from one side to the other, first to the mayor and then back to Falco, before moving on to the two people who stand beside him. Topaz Howard and Lace Mortimer, two of District One's many past victors and this year's mentors. There is nothing unusual about them, their stories are the same as so many of our tributes; a man born to a family who were never quite rich enough to reach the top echelons of society no matter how hard they tried, the whole district had known that he entered the Games so he could win enough money to clear his father's debts, and a young woman from as noble a family as I, who I would say had been trying to win her independence by becoming a tribute but in reality I suspect was driven to it by relatives who took one look at her and realised that they would have to pay someone to marry her rather than the other way around. I don't mean to be cruel but if very few people in District One lack beauty then she is certainly one of the unfortunate few.

I suspect that neither of them will be much use to me, but I don't need them, I can rely on myself. I take a deep breath as Falco takes the only futile step towards the first reaping ball that is necessary to begin the race to the stage and I make my final decision. I have to do this. It is what Sapphire would have wanted, for me to carry on with our plan, and I will not let her down. Besides, I'm not going to lose so this is nothing.

I pull myself under the railing that separates us from the stage a fraction ahead of everyone else, laughing to myself because the first thing I think is that it is just as well I got myself some flat shoes so I can run properly. It is strange the way the brain focuses on one minor detail as a way of blocking out everything else that it can't quite process.

"Cashmere! Stop! You don't have to do this! Cashmere!"

I hear my brother calling to me just as I put one foot on the stage, forcing my way forwards, fighting to keep ahead of my rivals. I hear him shout my name once again when Falco Hazelwell's dark eyes lock with mine as he grasps my wrist and lifts my arm up in victory, my brother's tone now mournful rather than frantic. But it is only when I vaguely recognise the victorious male tribute as the boy who had winked at me earlier that I turn to look into the crowd, somehow finding myself staring at Gloss as soon as I do.

The pain on his face is worse even than when the Capitol returned Sapphire, almost as if he is grieving for me before I have even gone. As I stand by the side of my new mentor, who glares at me like she is a tribute herself and I am her enemy, I don't know which urge is stronger, the one telling me to go to my brother and comfort him, or the one telling me to be angry with him because he doesn't believe I will return. His eyes don't leave mine and it is such an effort to keep myself from crying that I almost forget to breathe. They play the anthem but I don't hear it, and as the Peacekeepers step onto the stage to escort us away, I find myself looking behind me so that I don't lose sight of Gloss, who follows me as closely as he can, ignoring the irritated people he barges out of the way as he does. The last word I hear as I walk through the familiar entranceway to the Town Hall is my own name, which he calls one last time, his voice full of grief as he finally loses sight of me.

"Is your boyfriend worried he might have some competition now you're going all the way to the Capitol with me?" asks my new district partner, his arrogant voice interrupting my thoughts.

"He's my brother not my boyfriend, stupid," I retort flatly, "but if I had a boyfriend then I don't think he'd have much to worry about from you."

I turn my back on him sharply and follow a Peacekeeper down a wide wood-panelled corridor that is lined with many matching doors, only visible due to their shining gold handles. I smile to myself when I hear the Peacekeeper who had remained with the boy asking him if he has any idea who I am, before proceeding to tell him that he has more chance of sprouting wings and flying to the Capitol than he does of getting close to the likes of me. Maybe the Peacekeepers aren't as idiotic as I have always assumed.

Unfortunately, I am very rapidly forced to return to my original opinion when my escort shows me into an expensively furnished office and instead of leaving, follows me into the room and closes the door behind him. He closes the distance between us, suddenly standing so close to me that I can read the number of his regiment from the small gold badge that is pinned to his jacket collar. I glare defiantly at him, determined to stand my ground until he thinks better of his clearly poorly thought out intentions but in the end I am forced to take a step backwards. I am so repulsed by this man, who is not only vile, repellent and probably three times my age but is also so much lower in class than I that we shouldn't really be breathing the same air.

The man is clearly relying on only a single brain cell which is tiring very quickly, because I can tell by the expression on his face that he takes my reaction to be one of fear. He takes another step forward, leering at me in a way that makes me long for the sword that is currently in it's holder in my bedroom at home.

"I'll make sure you get some extra time to say goodbye to your family if you make it worth my while."

I glare at him with a look of disgust and disdain that I have practiced since well before the time I was old enough to need to use it. "I'd rather leave the district without seeing anybody. In fact, I'd rather die. When I return victorious from the Capitol, I will see to it that you lose your job so quickly that you won't have time to find another one. Who knows, I might even be feeling so vindictive that I will make you explain to your family exactly why you can't afford to feed them anymore."

He snarls at me, looking like he wants to hit me, but at the last minute he thinks better of it. He might be stupid but he isn't quite brainless enough to forget that as a volunteer for the Games, I am either trained or insane and therefore not worth the risk. He walks away quickly and is nearly at the door before something occurs to me.

"Wait," I call, and he stops, turning back to look at me. "Please don't let my brother in," I continue, deliberately trying to sound as pathetic and pleading as I can despite how much it pains me to do so. "I don't want to see him."

There. That is that potential problem sorted. I have heard tales of Peacekeepers sometimes not allowing some visitors to see tributes, denying them a final farewell out of sheer vindictiveness, and I am determined that will not happen to me. I can tell from the grin on his face that the Peacekeeper truly believes my lie, believes that I don't want to see Gloss, and I can also tell that he will do everything in his power to make sure my brother is let in, simply because he thinks he is gaining revenge on me for denying him.

Honestly, some people are so dense. They look at me and see nothing but my beauty, which makes them think that I must be stupid, however I can happily say I am anything but that, which is why I know that if I am careful then I will be able to rely on that misapprehension in the arena. Let them believe they are smarter than me. Let them believe they are in control. I will make them pay for their idiocy later.

* * *

Once the door slams shut, I flop down onto the nearest chair before abruptly jumping to my feet again a second later as I take in my surroundings for the first time. This office looks exactly like my father's, right down to the heavy mahogany furniture and deep red wallpaper, something I'm sure is quite deliberate. This is the grandest building in District One, the place where all of the most powerful people make all of the most important decisions, well, at least the ones which the Capitol are willing to debate about rather than dictate anyway. Using my father's logic, it is only right that the place from which he rules his empire should so closely resemble the centre of our district's power.

I shiver as I remember the few occasions that I have been inside that place. I can recall them in very fine detail and can say for certain that I was only ordered into my father's august presence when I had done something I shouldn't, or, as was more often the case as I grew older, when he wanted me to do something for his benefit. He is one of the most powerful and influential non-Capitolian people in the district and he maintains that position not only by virtue of being head of our family but also through continuously demonstrating a ruthlessness that could easily compare with that of President Snow himself. I have seen the look in the eyes of many who have entered that office, employee, family member and rival alike, and that look is usually one full of fear. Is it any wonder that I can't relax in a place like this?

The first people to be shown into the room are my parents, closely followed by Satin, who looks down her nose at me like I am some kind of servant. Her elaborately embroidered Capitol-made dress is as beautiful as her clothes always are, but that doesn't quite make up for the fact that she insists on ordering them two sizes too small. After quickly deciding that the dress would look a whole lot better on me, I ignore her totally and focus on my father, knowing of old that to ignore him for even a second is to do something very dangerous indeed.

Until I look closely, Father looks as emotionless as ever, but when I really focus on his face I can see the small signs of barely suppressed anger there. I knew he would be angry. Whatever happens in the Capitol, I have escaped from the tyranny of his rule and he knows it as well as I do. Mother, on the other hand, looks beside herself with excitement, fussing with her newly styled hair and almost bursting with anticipation as she considers how many people from the Capitol she is going to get to talk to now.

"What do you think your stylist will design for you?" she gushes. "Cashmere, you're going to be famous. Everyone will know us."

"Everyone already knows us, Mother," I reply tiredly with a deep sigh. "We are hardly the most inconspicuous family in the district."

When she doesn't respond, seemingly lost in a daydream of Capitol fashion and luxury, I sigh again and decide to humour her like I always do. She doesn't seem to register the actual Hunger Games at all. All she sees is a series of ceremonies and makeovers and television appearances. I expected this response though. She was exactly the same with Sapphire last year.

"I will bring you a dress back from the Capitol," I tell her, almost as though I am the mother and she is my child rather than the other way around.

"Can you get me a purple one? The colour that they dressed Finnick Odair in last year."

For a second I am speechless, shocked that she could so casually bring up the subject of the boy who killed her foster-daughter, and that is all the time Satin needs to confirm my low opinion of her in one simple sentence.

"That's a good idea, Mother," she says before turning to me, speaking slowly and precisely like I am the simple one not her. "Cashmere, I'm sure you will get to meet him when you get to the Capitol. He will be mentoring this year because it is the first anniversary of his victory. You have to tell me if he is as gorgeous in real-life as he is on the television."

When I have eventually reined in my anger enough to speak, first I turn not to Satin but to Mother. "How can you speak that name?" I ask her but she doesn't answer me. She doesn't even seem to understand where my rage has come from. "And you," I snap, glaring at Satin, channelling all of my anger into that one look. "Why can't you see beyond your shallow, selfish little world for just one second? Not everything is about you, Satin. And besides, Finnick Odair is a Hunger Games victor. Even if I overlook your obvious thing for cradle-snatching for just a second, there is no way in Panem that he would even look at someone like you. Especially when you can't see that wearing dresses that are too small for you only draws attention to the fact that you are…how shall I put it, slightly out of condition," I finish acidly, pointedly looking down at my own figure, perfectly toned from many hours of training that Satin never had the willpower to complete even when she was of reaping age.

"Silence!" roars my father at the top of his voice, and Satin bites back the retort she had been going to voice and I instantly fall still and quiet. It is true that we despise each other, we always have, but we are children of District One, and if there is one thing that all children of District One know, it is that when a man like my father demands silence then silence is the only safe option.

When Father walks towards me, my first instinct is to step back, but then I change my mind and raise my head to look him in the eye, refusing to yield a millimetre.

"You disobeyed me, girl," he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. I look slightly to my left to see Satin's smirk as she senses blood. Not this time, I say to myself. Not this time.

"Actually, Father, I don't ever recall you telling me that I mustn't volunteer."

"I've got your marriage contract on my desk. You know how much it is worth to this family. I would have thought it would be perfectly obvious that swanning off to the Capitol is the exact opposite of what I wanted you to do. You'd better win now, or I will be ruined."

"That's a slight exaggeration, don't you think?" I retort, my eyes not leaving his for a second. I hear Satin gasp at my defiance. "And you do realise that you will be losing that money anyway, don't you? I will win the Hunger Games, I promise you that, but when I do, I will be my own person with independent means, and I can tell you this for nothing, there is no way in Panem that I am marrying that imbecile."

He is almost beside himself with rage before I have even finished speaking, and the slap that I receive as a reply instead of words is no great surprise. He hits me hard enough for my head to snap to the side, my hair flying wildly around to cover the stinging mark left on my cheek by his hand, but when I turn back to face him I find that I am unable and unwilling to suppress the smile that appears involuntarily on my lips.

"You will win and you will return, then you will do as I tell you," he snaps furiously, so unused to being defied that he doesn't quite know what to say. "Do whatever it takes to win."

Just like he does, I think to myself. It is said that all people love their parents on some level and maybe that is true, but when I think of my father I know that that doesn't mean I don't hate him too. His status is everything to him, and he has always loved wealth and power much more than he loves his family, even Mother and Satin. He will do anything to make money, to gain power, absolutely anything. I shudder and finally turn away from him as I remember the day about a year ago, just before the reaping, when one of his rivals to whom Father owed money to offered him a deal. A deal to cancel the debt in exchange for only one thing: Me. My own father didn't hesitate to agree and it is ironic that the only thing that prevented the arrangement from being honoured was my uncle pointing out to my father that there are more beneficial and lucrative deals to be made is he waits until I am nineteen and free of the Hunger Games before arranging my marriage.

I wonder if people in the Capitol are curious to know why so many of the daughters of District One's rich and privileged families like myself are so willing to volunteer for the Games? I might be doing this for Sapphire, and to win a life of luxury for myself, but I am doing it to escape as well. I am not the eldest child, I am not the one who will inherit the family fortune, but I am still subject to the whims of the head of that family and the Hunger Games is one of the few ways of escaping that is open to me.

"I will win, Father, I already promised you that, but that is the only thing that I can promise you."

He looks like he is about to say something else but as far as I am concerned the discussion is over, so I turn away from him, humming under my breath, singing a very old song that is still known today, making sure that I raise my voice slightly when I get to the line that I really want him to hear. "Oh freedom is mine, and I know how I feel…"

I know that he hears me, because despite not thinking it possible before this moment, I see the skin of his face turn a deeper shade of purple as his fury threatens to overcome him entirely.

"Goodbye, daughter," he says stiffly, looking at me once more before turning and leaving the room without a backward glance, rendered speechless by my rebellion. Satin follows him without saying a word.

Mother goes to follow them but then stops as retraces her steps towards me, looking nervously at the door as she does. She runs her hand through my hair before stepping away. "You were always beautiful, Cashmere. You must use your beauty now. It will help you."

I nod as she walks away. That must be the single most rational statement I can remember her saying to me ever, and though I knew it already, I can't help smiling slightly.

"I will. And I won't forget your dress."

She turns and gives me her familiar beaming smile for the final time and then she is gone. I barely know her really. How could I know her when I have seen so little of her during my childhood? Yet now she has gone I realise that I do care for her. Not in the way I care for Gloss or how I used to care for Sapphire, but I feel something for her, something far stronger than I imagined. When I return home from the Capitol I will bring her that dress and a few more besides. I might even take her to the Capitol with me, get to know her properly, the real her not the person perpetually living in my father's shadow who she became.

Less than a minute later all thoughts of my parents leave my mind as the door opens again to reveal my brother, standing there looking far more dishevelled than his usual immaculate perfection, anger and confusion etched into every aspect of his expression. He doesn't speak, almost as though he doesn't trust himself to, and despite his anger he crosses the room and pulls me into his arms as he sits down on one of the chairs, remaining silent as he clings to me in a way he hasn't done since we were young children.

Eventually he pushes me away from him, bringing his hand up to my face, tracing what I'm sure is the bright pink mark that Father's slap left on my cheek.

"Father and I had a bit of a disagreement," I say, answering his silent question.

"Oh," is the only reply I get as he pulls me against him once more.

"I'm not Sapphire, Gloss. I will win and I will return."

"That's what Sapphire said. Surely your memory isn't that bad?"

"I mean it. I can fight and you know that the Capitol will love me. I will rival Him for sponsors," I continue, refusing to say the name of the boy who murdered my sister.

He laughs despite his sadness. "You really believe that, don't you, Cash?"

"Are you saying you don't?" I reply, hurt that he doubts me. "What's wrong with me?"

He laughs again. "Apart from the fact that I don't think even the Capitol will be big enough to hold your ego, there is nothing wrong with you."

I hit him but I laugh as well. "You're just jealous," I tease. "Not everyone can be as good as me, I can't help it."

He pushes me to arm's length so he can look into my eyes, his expression suddenly serious. "You will come back, won't you?"

"I promise," I reply just as seriously before I revert to teasing him instead so I don't do something embarrassing like starting to cry. It would never do for the Capitol's first real glimpse of me to involve my eyes being red and puffy. "I have to come back because you'd never survive without me."

We both jump in response to the sharp knock at the door, which is closely followed by a harsh voice that informs us we only have one minute left. We both stand to face each other and Gloss takes my hands in his.

"Let them underestimate you," he says hurriedly. "Let them think you are a stupid, vain girl who plays at sword-fighting so she thinks she can win the Hunger Games as a way of seeing all the pretty things in the Capitol. Act like a younger version of Mother," he finishes and we both laugh.

"I will," I reply, squeezing his hands tightly as a thought suddenly occurs to me. "Gloss, promise me you won't hate me, no matter what you see on the screen."

"I could never hate you, Cashmere. You're my sister. I love you."

The door swings open and the Peacekeeper gestures for him to leave, staring at us and clearly not intending to give us another second. Gloss lets me go and backs towards the door, his eyes never leaving me as if he is trying to fix my image in his mind just as I am with him.

"I love you, Gloss," I call, just as the door clicks shut.

**If you've got this far then don't forget to tell me what you think...**


	2. Chapter 2

**I wasn't sure about this one but as people reviewed, I thought I would carry on a bit :) Thank you so much to those of you who did review last time - I'd love it if you did the same this time...**

Chapter Two

There had been a huge crowd of reporters waiting for us at the station. They had all travelled here from the Capitol, eager to get their first glimpse of the two tributes selected to represent the wealthiest of Panem's districts. They had screamed my name, competing with the camera flashes and television crews for my attention, desperate for me to answer their questions, and I had tried my best, knowing that if I am to win the Games then having the Capitol on my side is every bit as important as my ability to fight. From the beaming smiles and flattering comments that came my way as Falco guided me across the platform and lifted me onto the train, I think that I succeeded. The only problem is that now I am on the train and the mob has gone, I'm left with nothing but my own thoughts for company, and most of them are thoughts and memories that I could do without.

I haven't seen another person since we left District One. Falco didn't follow me onto the train, and I found that I quickly became so fed up of my district partner, whose name I have discovered to be Sheen, that fleeing the cabin was the only option available to me that didn't involve murder. The place I have escaped to is another cabin situated further down the train which looks like a dining room, complete with a finely carved and immaculately dressed table that looks fit for President Snow himself. However it is not that but the view of District One zooming past in a blur outside the window that I concentrate on as I am whisked ever closer to the Capitol on a journey that will probably only take as long as it takes us to have dinner and watch the reaping review. I wonder if we will eat in here and find myself hoping we will. It would be nice to have the chance to enjoy the luxury without having to worry about making sure that whatever I do or say meets the approval of my chronically strict and critical father.

I remain curled up on my armchair by the massive window which makes up most of one side of the train carriage and watch as the sun sets on the horizon, illuminating everything around me in golden and orange light. I wish Gloss was here. I wish he could see this and I wish that I could tell him what I'm thinking. He always makes me feel better and now he isn't here I realise exactly how lost I am without him.

I look down suddenly when the flash of gold at my wrist catches my eye and lift my arm up to the light. I focus on the tiny golden tattoo of a butterfly that has been there since I was nine years old, unable to suppress the slightly sad smile that appears on my face at the sight of it. I remember the day I got it like it was yesterday even though I was so young, I remember how Mother had gone on and on at Father for so long that he finally relented and paid someone from the Capitol to travel to District One so she could have a gold stencil tattoo like all of the wealthiest and most glamorous ladies in the Capitol had at the time. I also remember how Sapphire and I had snuck inside the suite of rooms where the man had stayed and begged him to let us have one too.

It obviously wasn't unheard of in the Capitol for children to be decorated so, because after a few little girl smiles and sweet words of persuasion, he had done as we asked and we left the room a few relatively painless moments later, Sapphire with a tiny stylised dragonfly on her wrist and me with my equally stylised butterfly. Hardly anyone we went to school or training with could believe what we had done and both of us had loved the attention. I barely noticed Father's rage despite realising even at that young age that the only thing keeping him from taking his belt to my back was his desire not to mar my beauty and perfection with scars. Thinking about it now, I realise that he was planning for the future even more than I was and certainly didn't want my value to him to be decreased over something so trivial. I laugh bitterly to myself, hoping that my presence on this tribute train is causing him to have as many sleepless nights and hassle-filled days as it is possible for him to have. He might be my father but if you ask me then he deserves them all.

I run my finger over my wrist, finding I see not the butterfly that is actually there but the dragonfly which is just as familiar despite it being so long since I saw it anywhere but in my mind. I remember like it happened yesterday, that moment a little more than a year ago when I watched the light in Sapphire's eyes fade forever as they showed her death in all it's detail live on television. For the millionth time, I replay the moment when Finnick Odair stabbed her with the trident his adoring sponsors had sent him and the reality of what I have done suddenly sinks in. I am a Hunger Games tribute, there is no turning back, no running home and saying that I have changed my mind. I have to kill or be killed, there is no other way and no way out.

Less than a second later, I realise that I don't want to change what happened. I am doing this because it is what Sapphire would have wanted, because she would want me to gain my freedom. She chose to risk the life she ultimately lost to escape from what was waiting for her back in District One and I made the same choice. I am determined not to regret it for a second, whatever happens. Anyway, someone has to win and the odds are more in my favour than in anyone else's. I shouldn't be worrying because I'm not going to lose.

* * *

I don't know how long I have been sitting in my chair by the window, watching barren countryside fly past as we travel towards the Capitol at a greater speed than I thought possible, but I am struggling to see beyond my own reflection in the glass by the time I spin around to face the cabin door as it slides open. Falco steps gracefully into the room before slowly and deliberately sliding the door shut behind him. He doesn't speak, and as I look at him, I decide not to speak either, realising that this is one of the rare occasions where I really have no idea what to say.

"Cashmere de Montfort," he says when he has walked calmly across the room to stand in front of my chair, my name sounding somehow different when spoken in his low voice that has only the merest hint of the usually very obvious Capitol accent. I stare unblinkingly up at him, unable to avoid noticing the way he looks at me, which is with a strange mixture of superiority, curiosity and something that almost looks like desire. I refuse to be intimidated, getting the impression that he is testing me to see how I will react.

I return his look, wondering if he sees the same expression on my face that I see on his. District One is the richest of the twelve districts by a long way and being from one of the wealthiest families there makes me one of the most privileged girls in Panem outside the Capitol, in material terms at least, but as my eyes take in the fine material of his clothes and the subtle sparkle of the few pieces of jewellery he wears, I realise that his single outfit is probably worth more than my father's house.

I am proud of how I can face each and every one of my father's friends and associates, the most powerful men and women in my district, and even the few visitors from the Capitol we have, looking them in the eye without being at all intimidated, on the surface at least. Gloss has always teased me that I would even argue with President Snow if I had the chance, and I liked it when he said it. It made me feel more in control than I ever really was. However when my eyes meet Falco's, which are so dark that the dim light of the cabin makes them appear black, I have to fight to prevent myself from dropping my gaze, an alien feeling that I quickly find I really don't want to get used to.

"Can I help you?" I reply, pleased to hear my familiar confident and slightly arrogant tone.

"Why are you here, Cashmere? Why did you volunteer for this?" he asks bluntly, answering my question with two of his own.

My hand instinctively finds Sapphire's pendant but I raise my head, straighten my back and give him my best smile as I decide to do what I have been doing all my life to most people, which is to lie or at the very least not tell the whole truth. Not many people intimidate me, and I don't think that is what I feel now. I don't know what I feel, but for some reason I know that at some point in the last couple of minutes, I lost control of this conversation, and I really don't like it.

"How else is a girl like me going to see the Capitol?" I say, determined that I will not let this man know anything about me that he doesn't already know, no matter how it makes me feel when he looks at me like he is looking at me now.

"There's more to it than that," he says immediately.

I'm not giving in, I tell myself. He might be from the Capitol and he might think that gives him the right to ask me whatever he likes and expect an honest answer, but it doesn't.

"I think you're taking your new role a little too seriously," I reply with false lightness. "As long as you get Sheen and I enough sponsors for us to survive in the arena until the time comes for him to die then your job is done." I am surprised by the strength of his response to that.

"Don't play games with me, child," he replies, his voice hardening slightly as he steps forward again.

I hear the tips of his fine leather shoes connect with the wooden base of my chair and I continue to look up at him as he looms over me, unsure of what to do next. I have tried feigning mindless stupidity and I have tried passive aggression and neither have deflected him from his need to get a genuine answer to his question. I was right when I assumed that he is a man who is used to getting his own way. I abruptly decide to try the only response that has never failed me in the past, the one of my many defence mechanisms that Gloss hates the most.

"Do I look like a child to you?" I ask him in a low voice, uncurling my legs from underneath me and turning to face him.

He laughs, a deep, throaty sound that resonates around the small train cabin, but he doesn't step away. "Oh, Cashmere, I've been warned all about the wiles of the ladies of District One," he says, the laughter lingering in his voice.

"Is your wife waiting for you back in the Capitol then?" I ask, continuing to play my role and hoping it will distract him from his questioning at the same time as noticing how his humour vanishes for a split second in response to my own question. There is a story behind that reaction, I am sure of it.

"Drop the act, Cashmere," he says, still as infuriatingly calm as ever as he steps back and flops down onto the chair opposite mine before leaning over and grasping the sides of my own chair, pulling me towards him with surprising ease. "The real you is far more attractive."

"How would you know?" I retort defensively. "You don't know me."

"No, I don't. Not yet."

I shiver with something that should be fear but really isn't, and, feeling furious with myself for reacting to him like that considering where I am and where I am going, I decide it is way past time to change the subject.

"We are supposed to be watching the other reapings," I say, nodding in the direction of the adjacent room, which I know from earlier investigation contains a giant television screen and little else. "Where is everyone else?"

"The mentors are probably discussing strategy or whatever it is that mentors do. Or should I more accurately say that Lace will be formulating the plan and Topaz will be silently agreeing. Your district partner will be lucky if his single brain cell has the capacity to get him from his cabin to this one."

"That's not a very nice thing to say, is it?" I say, the low, teasing tone returning to my voice, this time without it being deliberate. "Aren't you going to take the time to get to know him like you are me?"

"I think we both know he doesn't have a chance of winning. And besides, there is nothing about him that I am remotely interested in," he replies flatly. I force myself not to react, fighting back the blush that is threatening to embarrass me completely.

"You're not like most Capitol people," I say, deciding to see if I can make him feel as unnerved as he seems intent on making me but without really thinking of the potential consequences.

"And what are most Capitol people like, from your extensive knowledge and experience?" he asks, mocking me gently, which, with the possible exception of my brother, isn't something I am used to taking from anyone.

"Leave me alone," I snap, knowing that he was always going to have a comeback to whatever I said but resenting it just the same. "Go and find someone else to torment."

"Not until you answer my question," he replies with a smirk.

And how exactly do I do that without giving the Capitol grounds to execute me for treason? I can't very well tell him that he is the only person from the big city I have ever met who looks at me like a person rather than an object, that he is the only one I have ever heard even imply that I might need a bigger reason to volunteer for the Games than merely for the glory of competing. I quickly decide that honesty and brazenness is the only way so I look him slowly up and down as if carefully considering.

"You haven't had any cosmetic surgery for a start," I say, returning his smirk, determined not to let him outsmart me. "And from what I have seen so far, it does seem to be almost compulsory in this place."

"How do you know I haven't?" he retorts, the amusement he feels showing clearly on his face. He looks younger when he smiles, and I smile back without thinking, my real smile, not the fake one that most people see. "I'm very rich, so I can afford the best."

"Even if you can afford the best, you've never gone to them."

"Presumptuous, aren't you, Butterfly?"

My head jerks up in response to the nickname and he reaches out to turn my hand over, revealing the tiny gold tattoo. How did he notice that? He's probably President Snow's spy or something. I pull back, realising my hand is shaking and not wanting him to notice.

"All your clothes coordinate. Virtually every person I've seen on the television clashes. I notice these things," I add with a smile.

"It doesn't matter where you come from, Butterfly, some people have style and some don't."

"Don't call me that," I say, pushing back the memories it makes me recall at the same time as I push my chair away from his. After that day just over nine years ago, that was what Sapphire used to call me. It became a longstanding joke between us, and it surprises me how much it hurts to hear it again now she is gone.

"You'll have to tell me why."

"I can't."

"Then it stays," he replies, his usual arrogantly serious expression returning. "I am not your enemy. How can I help you if you don't help me to understand?"

"Some things are useful for the Games, some things are my business. Not everything is both," I retort, standing and striding quickly from the room. He looks like he wants to drag me back but he doesn't, he simply stares after me, making me a silent promise that I haven't heard the last of this.

* * *

I am lucky that the first door I push violently open is one which leads to a bedroom that is obviously meant for me. As soon as I left the dining room, some of my anger left me and I regretted my harsh words to Falco. I know that I will need him on my side if I am going to gain the sponsorship I need to win, that I need to live, and anyway, if I am honest with myself, that isn't the only reason for my regret. When I think of him I realise I desire his approval for it's own sake, because I want him to like me, because I want him to want me even if I don't quite know what I really think of him. He isn't like the boys I have grown up with and he is certainly nothing like the imbecile who I would have been chained to forever had my father had his way. He is handsome, rich and sophisticated, and as if that wasn't enough, get past the teasing and he seemed to be genuinely curious about me. And I pushed him away. Well done, Cashmere. What a great way to start your journey to the Capitol. How am I supposed to win the support of the sponsors if I can't even win that of my support team?

I sigh deeply, pulling my hair back from my face and twisting it behind my head only for it to fall forwards over my shoulders again as soon as I let it go. Looking around the room for the first time, I see more luxury that exceeds even what I have at home. Realising that this is only the tribute train lightens my mood slightly as I start to imagine what the Capitol itself will look like.

A short distance away, there is a white door inlayed with gold, and my curiosity quickly gets the better of me as I approach it. It is a wardrobe, one that contains more fine clothes than even Satin possesses. I smile at the thought of how jealous she would be, of how angry it would make her if she could see me now. I pull out a dress which is a deep purple colour, not the same as Finnick Odair's Victory Ceremony outfit but darker, and I run my hand over the fine silver embroidery, thinking that it would be all too easy to get used to this.

However by the time I have changed, reality has started to set in once more as I remember that in a couple of short hours, I will be in the Capitol, beginning what will be the most important few weeks of my life, where the decisions I make are literally life or death. My last thought as I fall back onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling is that I really hope Odair doesn't have a brother.

* * *

By the time I hear the loud knock on the door and Lace's command to come to the television room, it's completely dark outside. I must have fallen asleep but I have no recollection of doing so. Getting up to look out of the window, I almost expect to see the lights of the Capitol in the distance but I see nothing. My head hurts and I want nothing more than to lie back down, but it doesn't sound like there's going to be much chance of that.

"Cashmere!" comes the voice again, sounding even more irritated this time.

"Wait a minute," I snap back, crossing the room to the door but pausing to check my hair in the wall-mounted mirror by the bed. At least I don't look as tired as I feel.

"Now!" she shouts, clearly losing her famously short temper.

"In a minute," I say, not loudly enough for her to hear but loudly enough to make me feel better. She might be my mentor but as of this morning, nobody speaks to me like that. A few moments later, I yank the door open and stride past her without a word.

It is only as I am walking down the corridor that I realise everywhere on the train looks virtually the same and I don't have a clue where I'm going. I keep walking anyway, determined not to admit that to Lace or even consider asking her for help. I barely know her but I somehow know she would revel in my weakness and there's no way I'm going to give her the opportunity. I try to look for a familiar picture on the wall or an ornament I have seen before but there is nothing. Well, that's not strictly true, there are plenty of strange and interesting-looking objects, only none of them look at all familiar. I inwardly breathe a sigh of relief when Falco appears at the other end of the corridor. He stops about halfway along and opens a door.

"Good choice," he says, staring at me with such intensity that I have lowered my eyes and looked away before I even realise I have let him win. I immediately lift my head again in defiance, my eyes meeting his instantly. "After you," he says, gesturing into the cabin, that infuriating half-smirk of his appearing on his face.

I walk into the cabin, glaring at him when he doesn't step back to allow me through but silently laughing with him at Lace's very obvious expression of horrified disapproval when I push past anyway. Our reaping is already playing, the noise of the District One crowd filling the room, and I watch the screen as Falco raises my arm, trying not to hear Gloss's pained call of my name. The feeling of loss I that hits me when I think of my brother feels like someone has kicked me in the stomach, but I know that I can't afford to dwell on it. If I lose focus then I will probably end up dead. Besides, I am doing this for Gloss as well as for myself and in Sapphire's memory. Surely he must be able to see that? I'm sure he will when his initial panic at seeing me on that stage fades. At least I hope he will, or all this will be for nothing.

I remain lost in my thoughts, realising that I would give anything to go back to the life I had a couple of years ago, then imagining how Gloss must be feeling, how difficult it must be to be left alone with only our parents and Satin for company. Like everyone in Panem, he will have to watch the Games, and part of me is glad, hoping that I will make him proud when he sees me dressed in my finery in the Capitol, but the rest wishes he didn't have to see. To stay alive, I am going to have to kill, I have always understood that, but my understanding and reluctant acceptance doesn't mean that I want my brother to see whoever it is that the arena will make me temporarily become.

I snap abruptly back to reality when Lace coughs pointedly, looking sharply at the screen as soon as my eyes meet hers. Our reaping is over, which means it is finally time for me to learn the identities of my twenty-two opponents. I haven't really thought much about them so far. It is best that way, I decided that a long time ago, hoping it will make the arena easier to deal with if I don't truly know who I am fighting. Having said that, my attention still remains focused on the screen as it turns to black and the words 'District Two' appear in red letters. These will be the people I am expected to form an alliance with, at the beginning of the Games at least, and I am curious to see them.

The filthy, decrepit-looking place that is District Two appears on the screen and I soon see the two reaping balls, as full of slips of paper as ever. The children of District Two never fear to take tesserae, because there is always a willing volunteer, just like there is in my district and yet I instinctively know that things are done very differently there. A name is called but the boy doesn't even make it to the stage before he is pushed out of the way by another, who is clearly older, bigger and vastly more intimidating.

District Two's newest tribute quickly climbs the steps onto the stage to stand beside their mayor, raising his arms in victory as the crowd cheer. I turn to my left in time to see uncertainty replace Sheen's usual arrogance for as long as it takes him to realise I'm watching him, and I smirk slightly before turning back to the screen. The man from District Two will most likely be the best trained tribute in the Games, for it's very rare that they are not, but I don't feel fear when I see him, not really. Whatever he is, he is still a man, and when I think about him in that way I know that I will have more chance of manipulating him than any other tribute in the arena. Even now, as I take in his slightly stern features, staring into his dark brown eyes through the screen, I can honestly say that if I am to die in the Games, which I really don't think will happen anyway, then I don't believe it will be he who makes the Gamemakers sound my cannon.

People who think they are wise always say that you shouldn't judge a person by their appearance, but I always say they are wrong, about that at least. Whatever they think, I believe you can learn a lot about a person by the way they present themselves to the world, the way they dress and the way they look. The girl who has joined her new district partner on the stage in District Two, yet another volunteer, fits the stereotype of their typical tribute perfectly; average height but well-built, dark olive skin and dark eyes. This girl is scruffily dressed despite the occasion, and if you ask me, she looks like she needs a good bath and a decent haircut. At least she won't be any competition for me when the time comes to attract sponsors.

The boy who had raised his arms to make the crowd cheer in a way that tells me he thinks he has the victor's crown on his head already is slightly different. His skin is paler and he is simply but neatly dressed, which makes him greatly resemble the few people in the District Two crowd who seem separated from the general mob, the people who seem to be in control. I would put money on him having power and authority amongst his peers because of who he is as well as what he is.

"I hope you know what you're doing," snaps Lace, focusing on Sheen as she has clearly already unwisely given up on me. "Either one of those two will kill you without thinking before you even realise what happened."

"It's so comforting to know that our mentors have such faith in us," I retort, speaking for Sheen, who looks slightly lost for words. Her dislike, I can accept, but how dare she doubt me? "We look forward to proving you wrong."

Sheen glances over at me, appearing shocked that I included him in my statement. I smile back before returning my gaze to the television, suddenly realising that whatever I think of him, I might need him on my side in the arena while the alliance lasts.

The programme quickly moves on from District Two, abruptly cutting off the cheers and shouts of the crowd as they celebrate what they no doubt imagine will be a return to victory after last year's mishap, where, thanks to Sapphire, their girl tribute didn't survive the break-up of the Career Alliance and thanks to Finnick Odair and his hated trident, their male tribute became the eighteenth kill of the Sixty-fifth Games. As I vaguely watch the two children from District Three take to the stage in their district, I can only hope that the people of District Two won't be celebrating for long.

District Three look petrified, understandably so because they must realise they have no chance of seeing their next birthdays, and the girl looks like she is trying to hide behind one of the mentors. She clings to him, a man who looks to be in his mid-forties whose Games I remember watching a recording of with Sapphire and Gloss, and I can see him attempting to comfort her as the anthem begins.

Then the screen changes yet again and my sharply indrawn breath in response to the new image comes out as a low hiss a second later when the camera zooms in on the Hunger Games's newest victor. Finnick Odair. It is only when I look down to see Falco's hand on my arm that I notice how I am perched on the edge of my chair, poised as if I am going to jump into the screen and murder the hated boy who killed my sister.

"What's wrong with you?" asks Sheen, obviously shocked by what he must see as my extreme reaction.

"Nothing," I snap, leaning back in my chair and silently seething as District Four's reaping progresses. I don't even notice the two new tributes, tributes who I have already decided will be on my kill list if it's the last thing I do. All I see is Odair, laughing and joking with their Capitol escort, who looks like she imagines she has died and gone to heaven despite Finnick's youth. How can he be so unaffected when he has caused me so much pain?

"Am I going to get an explanation?" asks Falco in a quiet voice that I don't think anyone else would have heard over the blaring noise of the television.

"No," I hiss back in reply, scowling at Lace as she looks over disapprovingly when she sees Falco grip my arm tightly.

"That's the incorrect answer, Butterfly," he replies calmly, his own emotions seemingly unaffected by the extremes of mine.

I turn my scowl on him and say nothing, pulling my arm from the grip of his hand before raising it above my head to join the other, arching my back as I stretch for longer than is strictly necessary. I glance in Falco's direction to make sure I still have his attention then deliberately turn my back on him, bringing my legs up underneath me and tucking my hands under my chin.

"I'm not saying I didn't enjoy the view, Cashmere, but you're going to have to do better than that. I will get an explanation out of you sooner or later."

"Is that a threat?"

"A man in my position doesn't make threats, only promises."

I may have made up my mind that my past is none of his business, but I still smile in response to his unwavering determination, not really understanding why he cares so much. There have been so many people who have tried to either earn my love or make me theirs, but I honestly don't think I can remember one who wanted to know anything about me other than my father's name and my own, in that order of preference, of course. I am grateful that Falco can't see my face and I can't see his as I try to make myself concentrate on the continuing review of the reapings.

* * *

"You will have to ally with District Two at the beginning or you will all end up getting massacred because you'll be too busy fighting each other to pay attention to anyone else," starts Topaz as soon as the repeat of the anthem which signals the end of the programme begins to play.

I look over at my second mentor in surprise, shocked by how much sense he makes. I was only very young when he won the Games but I have always assumed that he only won out of luck and the advantages of a handsome face. He has said very little up until now but it seems that I underestimated him.

"At least she won't be much competition with the sponsors," I say in reference to the girl from District Two whose name I can't remember but whose face I already know better than that of any other tribute but Sheen. She is my main competition, I know she is.

"Maybe not, but she can still kill you in the arena, and she will try at the first available opportunity. You are too dangerous for her to leave it too long," continues Falco, interrupting Topaz before he can reply.

"Best make sure that I don't give her an opportunity then," I say, turning back to face him with a slight smile.

"I'll kill you myself if you do," he retorts, smiling that smile that almost makes me forget that I'm supposed to be the one in control, the one who volunteered for this to gain her freedom from men like him. 'Except he is nothing like them, is he?' the traitorous voice in my head tells me. I try not to listen.

"So you want us to ally with Two and Four?" asks Sheen, looking at Falco and I in disgust and unless I am mistaken, more than a little jealousy.

"Of course," replies Lace, sounding shocked that such a thing should be questioned. "Why ruin a plan that is so successful?"

"Because District Two are dangerous and we might be better off killing them at the bloodbath," I say, wondering what I have done to earn such hatred from Lace when I see the venomous look I get in return.

"You stick with your pretty dresses and your flirtations and leave the strategy to those who actually know what they're talking about," she snarls. "It will only end up being worse for you if you interfere with what you don't understand."

I stand up, shaking with rage as I face the victor of the Sixty-third Games, who stands there with every bit as much rage etched onto her broad features as she must see in mine. I don't know who she thinks she is but I am not going to put up with this. She is supposed to be on my side. How dare she judge me?

"I'm sure you will have heard the saying which instructs you to beware of the green-eyed monster, Lace," I tell her, my voice remaining surprisingly calm, "but I think it's too late for you. If I could see the monster that has captured you then I suspect it would be green all over."

"Me jealous of you? I don't think so," she retorts, glaring at me in a way that makes it obvious she wishes she was back in the arena, which I suspect is the only place she has ever felt truly at home. I just smile knowingly back at her, something that becomes easier and easier to manage as I see her anger increase.

"We are all on the same side here, ladies," interrupts Falco, patting Lace's arm as he passes her but then holding his own out to me as he stops by my side. "And I believe I can hear them serving dinner next door."

I tuck my hand into the crook of his arm and allow him to lead me out of the television room, trying to ignore the feeling of Lace's judgmental eyes boring into my back.

* * *

I feel the train gradually start to slow down just as I put my fork down onto the latest in a long line of sparkling gold plates. I get up and walk to the window but disappointingly see only darkness. We must still be in the tunnel which passes through the mountains that surround the Capitol.

"Wait for a minute," says a voice from behind me, and I refocus my eyes to see Falco's reflection in the glass of the window. "We're nearly there and then you will see. There is no sight like it."

I smile in response to the obvious depth of feeling behind his words. He clearly loves this place, the place I have dreamed of seeing for as long as I can remember, and despite the shadow of uncertainty that the Games bring, I cannot help the excitement I feel at finally being able to live my dream.

"Cashmere, come over here. Now," commands Lace, gesturing back to my chair at the dining table next to Sheen. I ignore her and keep staring out of the window. "I mean it, Cashmere."

"I know you do," I reply, still not moving a millimetre. As far as I am concerned, I might not have won the Games yet, but I won my freedom the moment that I stepped onto that stage this morning and Falco raised my arm to the crowd. No matter what she thinks, Lace has no power over me.

"She's not affecting you, Lace," interrupts Falco smoothly as my mentor opens her mouth to say something further. Then he turns back to me, putting his hands on my shoulders and pushing me around so I face the window again.

I stare in stunned silence at what I see this time. I no longer see only darkness, but instead see an almost blinding display of lights that greatly exceed anything I have seen before at home. Every window of every tall, vast building seems to be illuminated, and I remain speechless with amazement as we gradually get closer and closer until eventually the lights I saw in the distance surround me as the buildings tower over the train.

"It's time to greet your adoring fans, Butterfly," says Falco in a low voice, interrupting my daydreams of what it would be like to travel to the Capitol as a victor and be able to explore properly. The train slows even more, telling me that we must have reached the station.

"I told you not to call me that," I say, but there is no real conviction in my voice. I have realised by now that my protests are futile.

"You know how to stop me," he says seriously before the humour returns to his expression. "What would you prefer me to call you? My lady? Your highness?"

I roll my eyes. "Don't you have potential sponsors to speak to or whatever it is that escorts do?"

"All in good time," he replies with a knowing smile.

"Although now you mention it, when I win I will expect you to bow to me and call me 'Your Majesty'," I say, deliberately whispering so nobody else in the room can hear.

I send Falco a smirk of my own before crossing the room to the door, taking my position next to Sheen but not looking at him. I don't want to get to know him, I don't want him to tell me about his life. He has to be just another tribute to me, even if he is from home.

"Are you nervous?" he asks as the train finally stops. He doesn't look at me either.

"Are you?" I reply, pleased to hear that my voice has lost none of its usual confidence.

"No."

"I'm not either. Why should I be?"

That is the truth. I have no reason to be afraid. These people who will be waiting for our train to arrive despite the lateness of the hour will be the people whose sponsorship could save my life. It is true that I need them, that I am at least partially relying on them, but it is also true that they want me to need them just as much. They might be Capitol people, a breed apart from those who live in the districts, even the richest and most sophisticated ones like mine, but they are still people, they still have the same wants and needs. In circumstances like these, the Capitol prizes physical beauty above everything else, Sapphire and Finnick Odair's Games would have taught me that even had I not known it already, and while I have not a penny to my name or even a life I can call my own, it can never be denied that I have beauty in abundance. They will want me as much as I need them. I have no need to feel fear.

Topaz steps forwards towards the doors and I step back to allow him past. Less than a second later, he throws the cabin doors open and I walk into the blinding light of countless camera flashes and shouts of my name. This is it. And so it begins.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

It has taken us at least an hour to make it from the cars that brought us here to the huge glass doors of the Remake Centre despite them being only a very short distance apart, and when I look at the crowd gathered outside it seems as if the entire population of the Capitol has come here to await our arrival. I have always known how enthusiastic the people here are about the Games but nothing could have prepared me for the welcome I have received tonight.

I follow Sheen through the doors after turning to blow one last kiss to those standing outside, smiling in response to the almost deafening cheers that I get in return. I hear another shout of 'I love you, Cashmere, and you're going to win!' before the door slides shut behind Lace and Falco and the noise is abruptly silenced.

"Very good," says Topaz, looking approvingly at me for the first time in my memory as he runs his hand through his white-blond hair to brush it back from his face. "It really does come naturally to you, doesn't it? Playing the crowd, I mean."

"I'm here to win, Topaz," I reply. "Only a fool doesn't use what weapons they have available to them, and I can assure you I am no fool, whatever some people believe," I continue, glaring at Lace, who appears to be attempting to find someone to tell us where we have to go now and isn't paying any attention to me at all. My head snaps back around when I hear another voice, one that I hear inside my mind with alarming frequency despite how much I try to fight my desire to think of him.

"Beauty as a weapon," says Falco, staring at me like we are alone in this vast space. "Only you could make it so."

"Have I killed you yet?" I ask, unable to resist stepping closer to him, surprising myself when I realise my words aren't my usual defence mechanism but a real desire to tease him for the sake of seeing how he reacts.

"Very nearly, Butterfly. Very nearly."

I smile coyly at his response but don't get the opportunity to say anything further, as the sound of high-heeled shoes on the fine marble floor indicates the arrival of a woman dressed in a horrifically bright yellow dress. Her features are so symmetrical and so chiselled that she can only be one of the Remake Centre's permanent residents, a fact that is confirmed when she begins to speak in a very high-pitched voice which is thick with the Capitol accent.

"You must be the group from District One," she says, her comment a statement rather than a question. "Were you late arriving? I expected you over an hour ago."

"We attracted a little attention on the way. I'm sure you understand why" replies Falco, his voice as soft but compelling as ever as he steps to the side so the woman can see Sheen and I.

"Oh," is the only response we get as she proceeds to walk over to us, running her hand over Sheen's arm and then raising her hand to cup the side of my face, staring at us like she isn't convinced we are real. It is an effort to meet her eyes and not pull away.

"Oh," says Falco, the tone of his voice nothing like that of the woman in the yellow dress.

His interruption seems to snap her out of her trance because she blinks several times and her arm drops back to her side.

"District One are usually so unnaturally attractive," she says. She's a fine one to talk about unnatural. At least my looks are my own and not the artwork of the nearest surgeon. But then maybe that explains why a person as accustomed to the luxury and beauty of this place as her is so stunned by our appearance. I am considered to be very beautiful and I imagine she is too, in the Capitol at least, yet we couldn't look more different. "You should have seen the girl last year," she continues. "The only prettier one I've seen is this one."

I don't know what to say to that, realising that I have to restrict myself to polite responses only in a place like this. My heart skips a beat at the mention of Sapphire, and yet I feel anger that this ridiculous-looking woman thinks she can speak of me like I won't understand her words, like I can't hear her despite how there is less than a metre's distance between us. She speaks of both my sister and I like we are somehow less than her and I can't stand it. I can't wait for the Games to be over, because I know that once I have worn the victor's crown on my head then nobody will question my position in this world.

"This way, please," says the woman, her voice interrupting my thoughts as much as the way Sheen pulls the sleeve of my dress to make me follow.

District One is the closest of the twelve districts to the Capitol by a considerable margin, which means that we have arrived late in the evening on the day of the reaping whereas the tributes from the other districts won't arrive until the morning. I have been wondering what will happen now, as the preparation for the Opening Ceremony will not begin until tomorrow, and it looks like I am about to find out.

"You can stay here," the Capitol woman tells me. "Your prep team will collect you in the morning."

I nod and walk into the small but finely furnished room, turning to see the rest of the group continuing down the corridor.

"Goodnight, Cashmere. I will see you tomorrow."

Falco's words are the last I hear as he pulls the door shut behind him, and I stand listening to the sound of his retreating footsteps as he walks away. When I can no longer hear them, I sigh deeply and cross the room to the window, feeling disappointment when I see nothing but darkness. Deciding that I will need all the sleep I can get so I look at my best for tomorrow, I climb into the bed, not bothering to change my clothes or even undress. All I can think is that I wish I didn't feel quite so alone. Everything is easy when I have people around me, when I have the new sights and sounds of the Capitol to distract me, but now they are temporarily gone, I long for the knowledge that Gloss is sleeping in the room next door, the knowledge that if I have a bad dream then he will rush in to comfort me, despite knowing that in reality he is many, many miles away. I find myself wishing that Falco hadn't walked away. I even find myself wishing I had Lace here sniping at me. I wish for anything but this insufferable solitude.

* * *

It is already light when I am woken the following morning by a middle-aged Avox with a breakfast tray. As I sit up in bed and allow the woman to pull a table across to me, leaving my food by my side, I am unable to stop wondering what she could have done to deserve her fate. She doesn't look like a terrifying criminal. She looks like someone's mother. Not like my mother, of course, but like one who cares for her family more than she cares for herself, the kind of mother who cooks and does the washing and tells her children to put their coats on before they leave the house in winter. I want to speak but I don't, and the woman straightens a few plates on the table and then leaves. She doesn't meet my eyes, not even once.

I try to push the Avox woman's image from my mind, only for her to be replaced first by Sapphire and then by Gloss. I try not thinking at all, focusing intently on my food, a breakfast even better than what I am used to at home, but that doesn't work either. It isn't enough to drive away the memories of last year's Games and the thoughts of what my brother is probably doing now.

I have almost finished my food, resorting to attempting to imagine what tonight's parade will be like as a way of blocking out all other thoughts, when the door bursts open without warning and a brightly coloured flock of three women quite literally run inside. They all look completely different to anyone I have ever seen before except on the television, two of them young, probably little older than me, and the other considerably older.

"Look at her, Callista," screeches one of the younger women to the other, her short pink hair bouncing with her as she jumps up and down on the spot as she stares at me. "Doesn't she look even prettier than she did on the television?"

They talk excitedly to each other then, speaking so fast and with Capitol accents so thick that I can barely make out every other word. I quickly stop trying to follow their discussion and focus instead on the elder of the women, who looks to be about fifty but could be anything up to twice that if what I know of the Capitol is true. She crosses rapidly over to stand by the side of my bed, narrowing her eyes sharply when I meet her gaze and stubbornly refuse to look away.

"Who did your hair?" she asks haughtily, lifting up one of my blonde curls and scrutinising it intently. "I didn't think there were people that well trained outside the Capitol."

"Nobody _did_ my hair," I say sharply, pulling away from her, insulted that she would think I have to resort to artificial alterations to look like I do. "It's naturally like this."

The woman senses she has offended me, that much is obvious from the expression on her face, although it is also apparent that she doesn't really understand why. It is then I remember that in the Capitol, cosmetic surgery and other such enhancements and alterations are as commonplace as breathing, and that, combined with the fact this woman from the Capitol seemed for a split second to care that she offended me, reduces the anger I feel significantly. I put my breakfast tray to one side and get out of the bed to stand by her side, giving all three of them my best smile.

"I am Drusilla," says the eldest one, "and this is Charis and Callista. We are here to make you look perfect for your big night."

I smile again and follow her lead out of the room and through the long corridors of the Remake Centre, pleased that she seems to have taken my cooperation as a sign that I trust her. I need these women on my side, I need them to help me win the hearts and minds of the Capitol sponsors, which means that I need them to truly want me to win.

It seems to be taking us forever to reach our final destination, wherever that may be, and despite how I look for Sheen, Falco or my mentors every time we turn into a new corridor, I see nobody, not even any of the tributes from the other districts or anyone who looks like they are not part of the furniture of the Remake Centre. Charis and Callista follow behind me, and I would almost think they are doing so in case I were to show any signs of reluctance to follow Drusilla were it not for their incessant chatter as they seemingly try to decide whether Callista should wear red or blue to a party she is going to.

"Blue," I say, turning around and smiling when they jog forwards to catch up with me, giving every impression that they are genuinely interested in my opinion. This is looking good. "It will go with your eyes," I continue. "If you have silver shoes then you should wear them too, to match the streaks in your hair."

Both young women beam at me before Callista's eyes light up and she turns to her companion. "And I can borrow your silver belt, Charis. Say I can, please say I can."

For the next few minutes I hear of nothing but the party as they plan what they are going to do and gossip about who is going to be there. At some point in the discussion, I seem to have become included in their group and they talk to me like a close friend, asking me for my opinion on people I don't know and situations that I cannot possibly imagine finding myself in. I simply nod and shake my head at what I hope are the appropriate times, happy that my plan to win over my prep team seems to be working. It's not even like it's a difficult or onerous task, as I love fashion and I miss having Sapphire to talk to about outfits and parties, but the more I think about it, the more I realise it is more than that. It is something of vital importance that could indirectly save my life, and thinking about it in that way makes me focus on my words more than I ever did when I was talking to my sister.

Eventually Drusilla stops outside a door, a door that looks identical to every other one that we have passed. She takes a large silver key from her pocket and unlocks the door quickly, muttering under her breath about how disorganised the whole place is and how it never used to be like this. Charis and Callista exchange glances and roll their eyes in the direction of their companion but they say nothing. From what I can tell so far, that is most likely because Drusilla isn't the type of woman you argue with or tease, certainly not to her face anyway.

She walks purposefully into the room and I follow her. It isn't a big room, but it's bright and airy. I can see the clear blue sky but not a lot else when I look out of the huge, high window, and just like always, it makes me smile.

"They never prepare these places properly," complains Drusilla as she bustles around the room, moving various bottles and pots from one place to another, clearly not noticing the sky at all. "Charis, get that mirror and put it over there. Callista, don't just stand there, do something useful. There are plenty of others who want your job."

Her orders are obeyed, which I suspect is what normally happens, but I also suspect that Charis and Callista are used to the woman's ways because they don't stop their seemingly endless conversation about the party for a second. A couple of minutes later, Drusilla pushes them out of the way and starts fiddling with the taps of the vast gold bath that stands in the middle of the room.

"Go on then," she says to me when the bath is almost overflowing with water and bubbles. "Get in. I haven't got all day."

I stare at her for a second without moving as she quickly turns away from me and begins sorting through a pile of brushes that are piled up on one of the side tables. It sounded like she wants me to get in the bath but not one of my prep team are showing any sign of leaving. Have they not heard of giving a girl some privacy?

"Hurry up, Cashmere," says Callista, interrupting my thoughts with a friendly smile. "You might be sickeningly beautiful already but we can't send you to the Opening Ceremony in that old dress and without even washing your hair, can we? I would be racing for the bath if I'd been stuck on a train all day."

The only thing that changes is that this time I am staring at her instead of Drusilla as I attempt to process all I just heard in that very Capitolian accent. I look down at the purple dress, which is the height of luxury to me, the same dress that Callista has just referred to as 'old', and quickly realise this is as much privacy as I'm going to get; none at all.

"Now, Cashmere," snaps Drusilla sharply, her fierce eyes meeting mine.

I nod without allowing myself to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break eye contact first, before reaching behind me to unfasten my dress. This all feels very strange, this isn't the way things are done where I come from. In District One, girls from families like mine do not go around undressing in front of random strangers, and to say I feel awkward is considerably more than a mere understatement. Still, they seem so unfazed by it that it must be acceptable and even normal in the Capitol, and anyway, it's not like I have a reason to be embarrassed. I'm beautiful, I know I am, and Callista's right, that bath does look wonderful.

I walk to the middle of the room and step out of my dress and into the water. It's as wonderful as it looks and I soon forget my awkwardness and relax back, listening to the continuous chatter of the younger women and the small crashes and clangs as Drusilla continues to move the contents of one side of the room to the other until things are finally up to her precise and exacting standards.

I open my eyes when I realise the whole room is silent to find Drusilla looking down at me, holding out a white bottle which is covered with gold writing that I can't quite read. I take it from her and when I do, I am convinced I see her smile ever so slightly.

"This is why we are lucky, Callista," she says, taking yet more bottles from her younger companion. "The most the majority of our colleagues can expect is to work their fingers to the bone trying to create the illusion that their tribute can actually resemble a civilised human being at least for the short duration of the ceremony. It is different for us; with District One, there is every chance that their girls have the sense to want to learn how to look after themselves."

I pour a small amount of what appears to be shampoo out of the bottle and rub it into my hair as directed by Drusilla. I hate being patronised like that, almost as much as I resent her suggestion that I don't know how to look after myself perfectly well enough without her assistance, but I have a strange feeling that coming from her, what she said is actually a compliment. Considering how much I need her support, I remind myself that I should make myself take it as such and do so without arguing.

Eventually, she helps me to rinse the foam from my hair and then hands me yet another pot before bustling off to the other side of the room. She doesn't say a word the whole time and by now the lack of conversation is starting to get on my nerves, especially as she is giving me every impression that she doesn't think she needs to lower herself to talk to the likes of me. I sigh deeply as I undo the lid of the thick, florally-scented conditioner, only to have the pot plucked from my grip less than a second later.

"Let me do that for you," says Charis as she kneels down behind the bath. "Don't mind Drusilla. This is positively nice for her. I think she likes you," she adds with a conspiratorial smile.

"I'd hate to see how she treats the people she doesn't like then," I whisper, tilting my head back to look at her.

Charis grins and pushes my head back down, massaging the product into my hair with a level of skill that has clearly taken some practice to achieve. It doesn't feel quite right to have her doing it considering how I have only ever let Sapphire see me like this before, especially when my sister was in my place this time last year, but I soon relax, deciding that if it wasn't for the prospect of the Games then I could get used to this. After a while, even the arena seems a long way away.

I just get to the best part of my daydream, where President Snow has placed the Victor's Crown upon my head and I raise up my arms as the crowd cheers and shouts my name, when Drusilla's sharp voice puts an end to my fantasy far too quickly.

"Right then, we haven't got much time left."

She hands me a robe and points in the direction of a strange looking contraption mounted on the nearest wall. I climb out of the bath, wrapping myself in the robe as quickly as I can before walking over to the wall and staring, unsure of what to do next. A couple of minutes later, the tyrannical dictator of my prep team stomps over to me with a lack of grace that I am sure would be frowned upon normally, glaring at me fiercely.

"Haven't you ever seen a hair dryer before?" she snaps, reaching out and snatching my hands, placing them roughly on the strange box thing. I shiver as a current passes through me and my previously soaking wet hair is once more cascading over my shoulders in thick, golden curls.

"You can't get them outside the Capitol," I tell her, trying my best to sound apologetic, which is a real effort as it isn't an emotion that comes easily to me. It's not my fault. How was I supposed to know what to do? "I will remember next time." It seems to work. Her smile is almost imperceptible but I definitely see it.

"Take off your robe and stand there," she says, pointing to the largest bit of open space in the small room.

I raise my eyebrows at her, half expecting her to laugh and tell me she's joking, but it quickly becomes apparent that she isn't going to and is being deadly serious. I shrug my shoulders and do as she says, meeting the eyes of all three of them as I drop the white silk robe to the floor, determined not to show even a hint of the embarrassment I know I'm feeling even if I don't know why.

Charis gasps and I turn to glare at her, daring her to try and talk about whatever supposed imperfection she thinks she sees. There's nothing wrong with me, I know that as surely as I know that Gloss is my brother and this is the Hunger Games.

"Don't scowl like that, Cashmere," she says, a wide smile on her pretty face, "I can't help being a little bit jealous. Look at her, Drusilla, she's flawless."

I continue to stare at her but my scowl slowly fades as they discuss my apparent perfection. It still doesn't feel quite right, standing here like this, and I wish they wouldn't speak about me like I can't hear or understand what they're saying, but that doesn't mean I'm not loving the flattery.

"Near enough perfect," replies Drusilla eventually as she circles around me. "I thought that about last year's girl until I noticed that scar she had. Do you remember? It was-"

"-on her right leg, from just above her knee to halfway up the outside of her thigh," I finish quietly, remembering that day nearly ten years ago when Sapphire had thought it was a good idea to climb the tree in the garden only for her to fall through the glass table beneath it, getting a broken shard embedded deep in her leg.

They all stare at me in shocked silence.

"How do you…" begins Callista, trailing off without finishing her sentence.

"Sapphire was my foster-sister. I loved her and still love my brother more than anyone else in the world. I came here to finish what she started, because it's what she would have wanted."

Callista smiles. "I remember her. She was so beautiful. And she did so well. You must have been so proud."

Now it's my turn to stare at them in shocked silence. Proud? Of course I was and still am proud of Sapphire, proud to have been her closest friend, proud of the person she became, but that was hardly the over-riding emotion I felt as I had to watch Finnick Odair murder her from the comfort of Gloss's bedroom, where I sat there clinging to my brother as strongly as he clung to me, totally powerless to help her. I might be proud, but that doesn't change the fact that Sapphire is dead.

Part of me wants to tell my prep team exactly what I think. I want to shout at them and hit them until they truly understand what I have lost, until they see the Hunger Games for what it is; a lot more than merely a game. I might have chosen this willingly, but that doesn't mean I don't know it for what it is. It's dangerous and risky, an often unbelievably horrific matter of life and death that involves real people. It isn't one of their soap operas where a character dies on screen and the actor or actress gets up and walks away none the worse a few minutes later. To save myself and my brother, I am going to become a killer, but at least I can honestly say that I know what I'm doing, that I have made my decision for the right reasons. But that being said, I can't tell them any of this. I need them to love me and want me to win because I'm relying on them to help me make the crowd think the same. And besides, it wouldn't matter what I said, there is no way I could alter a lifelong belief so I might as well do what suits me and stay silent.

"She did so well," I say, with false cheerfulness that I hope is convincing enough. "I'm going to win. For her."

"Of course you are," replies Charis. "You're beautiful, and together we're going to make sure everyone loves you."

"I need you to make me unforgettable," I say firmly, with the complete conviction which only comes with speaking the absolute truth.

Drusilla looks appraisingly at me once more before she speaks, and I stare steadily back into her eyes, all traces of embarrassment at my nakedness gone now that the serious reality of the Games has dawned on me once again.

"That shouldn't be too difficult."

* * *

My prep team work on me for hours, with Charis and Callista keeping my mind occupied with their endless chatter, continuing to ask my opinion of people I have never met and places I have never been to. Eventually, I begin to question them, and they seem more than pleased to talk about themselves, telling me their whole life histories, all about their families and friends, their favourite places to eat and shop. I take in every word they say, feeling strangely like they are telling me a story, a tale of a life that could only exist in a fantasy.

The more they tell me, the more I am reminded of the dream that had been mine only this time last year. This time last year, Sapphire was going to win the Games, then I was going to win the year after her, and then Gloss the year after me, three consecutive victories for the same district, but now it will never be. However if I win the Games then I can still have a life like the one my prep team describes and so can Gloss. I have already won my freedom but now I have the opportunity to live my dream, a dream that was Sapphire's too, and there is no way I am letting go without a fight.

"You ask a lot of questions," interrupts Drusilla as she paints a final layer of gold varnish onto my finger nails, cutting straight across Callista's description of the best shopping centre in the city.

"I'm curious," I reply, a response that is honest if not the whole truth. "I want to know what I've got to look forward to so I have something to keep me going in the arena."

I smile when I see that she has taken that as I hoped she would; as total praise of the place she loves and calls home. The fact that I didn't tell her the rest of the story is irrelevant.

"You have rare sense for a tribute girl," she replies. "Charis, go and fetch Felix. She is ready."

Charis runs from the room with an excited smile on her face and the other two leave soon after her, telling me to wait where I am. As soon as they are gone, my mind floods with thoughts and memories again, and as my doubts begin to resurface, I wish desperately that I wasn't alone. It wasn't supposed to be like this; being sat perched on the edge of what looks like a solid gold bath, wrapped in nothing but a thin silk robe and having no idea what to do next was never part of the plan.

I quickly get bored of waiting and trying unsuccessfully to clear my mind, so I get up and wander around the small room, pausing to lift Sapphire's necklace from the table. What would she say if she could see me now? Would she really be proud of me for continuing our plan or would she think me a fool for following her down the path that led to her death? I shake my head firmly. She wouldn't think I'd done the wrong thing, not when she knew what the alternative was. I just wish she was here. She should have been my mentor, she should have been here with me but Finnick Odair ruined it.

I fan my hand in front of my face to stop myself from crying, knowing that Drusilla will probably kill me herself if I wreck all of her hard work. I wish Gloss was here. Whatever I try to tell myself, deep inside I know he would hate the Capitol, but I wish he was with me anyway. He would know what to do, he would find a way to make me laugh like he always does. Then I wouldn't feel quite so alone.

The next second, the door swings open and I am no longer alone. Despite my earlier feelings, I suddenly wish that I was.

"You must be Felix," I say, desperate not to appear as the stereotypical, terrified tribute girl I imagine he's expecting. For this to work, he has to see me as an equal, or at the very least as a person with thoughts and feelings of her own.

He nods. "And you're Cashmere," he says, his voice a lot softer than I was expecting. "I've heard a lot about you."

Of all the things I was expecting him to say, that really wasn't one of them. He walks towards me and I stare as intently at him as he does at me. I haven't seen him on the television before, so he must be new. He's young for a Hunger Games stylist, probably about Falco's age, his pale skin unaltered apart from the two sets of three gold circles which have been tattooed in lines extending from the corners of his hazel-coloured eyes.

"I've no idea who from," I tell him firmly, ignoring the fact that if I'm honest with myself then I have a very good idea who from and hoping my voice sounds casual, "and surely you know it's better to find out the truth for yourself instead of believing rumours and gossip?"

He laughs and sits down on the edge of the bath just like I had done. They have everything in the Capitol so why they can't spare a few chairs, I have no idea. "I have reliable sources. But don't worry, they speak very highly of you."

"Of course they do," I retort with deliberate arrogance as I walk over and sit on the other side of the bath. "Why would they not?"

Felix laughs again and turns to face me. "Now I understand," he says cryptically. "What I thought was irrational suddenly makes so much more sense."

"You understand what? What makes sense?"

"Never mind," he says evasively before quickly moving on. "So, if even Drusilla thinks you have a chance then you must be something special."

"I'm going to win," I reply simply. "Nobody can stop me."

"I believe you, Cashmere. Really, I do."

"Good," I say, secretly pleased if slightly confused by his words.

"Why did you volunteer?" he asks suddenly, surprising me once more. This is getting ridiculous now. Why can't everyone just mind their own business?

"Why does everyone want to know?" I retort. "That is irrelevant to anyone but me."

"That's what I was expecting you to say, but you can't blame me for asking. I'm just interested. And every tribute needs an angle."

"You're my stylist, design me one."

"That shouldn't be too hard," he says, instantly becoming serious. "You must remember though, I can dress you so you catch their attention, but it is up to you to keep it."

"I will, don't worry about that. Last year taught me how the support of sponsors can decide who wins and who loses." If he can be cryptic then so can I.

He looks up at me sharply. "There's a story there, Cashmere. I can tell by your voice."

"I don't want to talk about it."

He shrugs his shoulders. "Stand up then. Take your robe off."

I stare at him, still unused to the Capitol's apparent penchant for casual nakedness. Drusilla and the prep team were one thing but Felix is something else entirely. I should have had Sapphire to tell me about this, she should have prepared me. Then maybe I wouldn't feel like such a lost little child.

I hate feeling like this. I feel angry with myself that I am allowing the situation to get the better of me, that I am allowing myself to show my naiveté, which I know he will see as a weakness, but I can't help it. I am trying my hardest to build a wall of self confidence to hide behind like I always do, but for some reason it just keeps crumbling down in a way it never has before.

"How am I supposed to do my job properly if I don't know what I'm working with, Cashmere? I've done this countless times before. And anyway," he adds with a smile, "it's more than my life is worth to look at you with anything but professional eyes."

I cross to the middle of the open floor space, unable to deny the feeling that there is more to his final comment than the simple fact that I am a tribute and he is my stylist. I stare directly ahead at the blank white wall as he circles around me, my back stiffly straight and my arms fixed by my sides as I tell myself over and over again inside my head that I have no reason to feel embarrassed. After a time, I even start to believe it.

Felix is true to his word and although he studies me closely, his gaze is impersonal, no different to how I imagine he would look at a dress design on a piece of paper or some fabric samples.

"Drusilla!" he calls, making me jump slightly as he suddenly breaks the silence that fills the small room. The leader of my prep team bursts through the door, her arms full of yet more bottles.

"It will be perfect. She will be _unforgettable_," she announces, with a pointed look at me when she says the final word in echo of what I had said to her earlier.

I reach down to put my robe back on but Felix whips it from my hands and throws it onto the table. He raises up a pot of a strange gold paste, dips his finger in it and taps the tip of my nose sharply.

"You will be a vision of gold, Cashmere. You will shine like the sun and they will all remember you. The rest is up to you."

I nod in acknowledgement of his words and then stand obediently if slightly uncomfortably as he and Drusilla thinly paint me with layer upon layer of paste until my pale skin is transformed into what looks like liquid gold. I would say that this wasn't what I was expecting but I can't really as I don't honestly know what I thought they would make me wear. The Capitol coated Sapphire in diamonds and now it is coating me in gold. It will suit me, I know it will. I will look beautiful and my beauty is what will save me, but as Felix tells me that he has nearly finished, I can't help but wonder if Sapphire was thinking exactly the same thing this time last year.

**Thanks to all of you who reviewed the last chapter (and to Sister to the Wolf for reviewing 'Victory') :) Please do the same for this one - reviews make my day and make me write quicker ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

As the hours came and went with me still standing there as naked as the day I was born while Felix and Drusilla slowly transformed me into a 'vision of gold', I gradually started to think the plan was to put me on the chariot exactly like that. If they did then it wouldn't be the first time and I'm certain it wouldn't be the last.

Despite attempting to reassure myself that nudity is usually the fallback of new stylists who have been given inferior districts but still hope to make a name for themselves and attract attention, I had gradually become less and less convinced. Then my saviour had arrived in the shape of Charis, bearing a handful of sequined gold fabric which turned out to be a very short, strapless dress that she quickly helped me into, gushing praise to me the entire time. I could have kissed her, both because I realise full well that leaving nothing to the sponsors' imagination before the Opening Ceremony has even started is likely to make me worse off in the long term, and also for the simpler reason that I know Gloss will be watching and I'm sure he has been traumatised enough without having to witness his beloved sister being paraded naked around the Capitol.

As soon as Charis finished fastening the concealed zip on my almost-dress, Felix pulled the clips from my hair so it flowed over my shoulders once again before finally announcing that I was ready. He guided me to a full length mirror hidden behind a vast screen, positioned me in front of it and then promptly left me there with nothing to do but stare at my reflection. A combination of relief that I don't look at all ridiculous and pride at the realisation that I will most likely stand out more than any other tribute for all the right reasons keeps me in that position for several minutes.

The only part of me which isn't golden is my eyes, which stand out all the more because of it, bright blue against a background of metallic shine. I look beautiful, I know it and I'm not ashamed to admit it. The most important thing in the world to me today had to be that I went to the Opening Ceremony with the sole purpose of attracting sponsors and this is the first stage. Felix has done his job and now it is time for me to do mine.

I am still standing in front of the mirror behind the screen when I hear the door open, followed by an all too familiar voice I know I have been waiting to hear, however much I try to tell myself otherwise.

"Felix! How are you finding the new job?"

"I have to be honest with you, Falco, there are worse jobs a man could have."

"There are," he replies, surprising me when I hear the easy familiarity that only comes with longstanding friendship in his voice. "And don't forget I will see to it that you end up doing the very worst of such jobs if you put so much as a toe out of line this year."

My stylist laughs at the teasing threat which I can't help but suspect is not entirely a joke. "Give me a chance, would you? I haven't done this before, not for the Games anyway. And you're late. I've been expecting you for hours. I always knew you would be here to check up on your famous Cashmere."

'Famous Cashmere' I can cope with, but 'his'? That will never do. I fled District One because I couldn't stand being thought of as property, so I have no intention of ending up as such here, not for anybody, not even Falco. I belong to nobody but myself, and it is that thought which makes me forget my strange combination of anticipation and apprehension at the idea of Falco seeing me like this. After a final look in the mirror, I step out from behind the screen with what I hope is my usual confidence.

"As you can see, they went for the subtle approach this year," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm as my eyes meet his.

He says nothing, not a single word, he just stares at me with a look that should remind me of those I have had all my life but is somehow different. When Falco stares at me, it feels like he is scrutinising my soul as well as my body, and it is that which renders me speechless.

I see only him as he walks slowly towards me, and when he gets close enough, he raises his hand as if to touch the bare golden skin of my shoulder. I stand hypnotised until his arm is slapped away, and then my head snaps around and I see Felix standing on his other side.

"Don't smudge her, Falco," he admonishes, trying unsuccessfully to disguise his laughter. "Have you any idea how long it has taken us to make her just the right shade of gold?"

I look at both men in surprise. Felix is the first person I have ever seen treat Falco with anything less than a strict deference similar to that which my father is granted back home. It is only then I abruptly realise that, even though I knew he had it from the very second I saw him, I have never thought to wonder why he has such high status. Now I have, I am more than making up for my previous, highly unusual lack of curiosity, and I focus my gaze on Felix as I prepare the first of the many questions I now have jostling for position in my head.

"We went to school together," explains Felix when he reads the obvious confusion on my face. "I remember the boy who would stop at nothing to defy his father."

I am pleased to see that my stylist actually looks like he may be in the mood to satisfy my curiosity, so I open my mouth to voice one of the new questions which immediately appear in my mind following his words, only for Falco to raise his hand to cut his friend off.

"That's enough, Felix," he says softly, not needing to raise his voice to make his meaning perfectly clear. "Our Cashmere is going to have to give up some secrets of her own before she gets to hear that particular story."

I scowl at him, the pressure of the day and everyone's constant mind games finally starting to get to me. I don't know why they should because I have known nothing else in District One, but I suddenly find I want nothing more than to get on with this and get it over with.

"I'm not your property," I snarl as I reach up to fasten my sapphire pendant back around my neck.

"You can't wear that!" exclaims Felix, suddenly back in full stylist-mode, making me jump as he rushes forwards. "I thought you knew better than that. Everything has to be gold or the look just won't work."

"This is important to me," I reply steadily, determined to emulate my escort and remain calm and in control despite my steadily rising temper. "I haven't taken it off since… Well, let's just say I never take it off."

Felix remains unmoved by my protest. "Nobody will take it if you leave it here. You can have it back after the parade."

I entwine the chain around my fingers, deciding that if I can't wear it then I will at least carry it with me, but he continues to shake his head.

"I will keep it for you," Falco tells me as he holds out his hand. "I will give it back the second you step off the chariot at the Training Centre, you have my word."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I snap, refusing to relinquish my tight hold on Sapphire's necklace. "Escorts aren't allowed downstairs after the parade."

He smirks at me and Felix laughs, which makes me scowl all the more. "Believe me, Butterfly, there is nobody at the Training Centre who will tell me to leave."

"Does everyone always do what you want?"

"It is very unusual for them to not."

His voice has no hint of his usual teasing and I allow him to remove the delicate silver chain from my hand, sensing this is a battle I will never win. There's no point in falling out about it at the moment. The time for that will come if he doesn't keep his word and I don't get it back.

"My brother always told me never to trust people I don't know," I tell him with mock seriousness as my temper fades as quickly as it rose up inside me. I smile at the recollection of how Gloss also told me on numerous occasions that I should never trust people I do know either.

He smiles back. "You'll just have to risk it and trust me, won't you?"

I know I shouldn't do it but I can't resist, so I say nothing in reply but instead I reach up to trail my finger down the collar of his spotlessly immaculate black suit, smirking at the sight of the line of gold I leave behind. I expected him to react like any other self-respecting citizen of the Capitol and immediately frantically attempt to restore his clothing to its usual perfection, but he merely crosses over to one of the many mirrors, looking at me in the glass as he returns my smirk.

"If you're not careful then this could start a new trend. Everyone will want one."

I walk forwards, thinking to brush it off but then realising that me going anywhere near him will only make matters worse.

"Felix, can you?" I ask, gesturing to Falco's collar.

"No, he can't," interrupts Falco, putting out his hand to stop his friend from moving. "I am proud to be associated with the most beautiful tribute in the Games."

I roll my eyes, knowing he is still teasing me but abruptly feeling a lot more serious. "But I am still a tribute in the Games, I can't afford to think about anything else. Why are you doing this?"

"Do you really want me to answer that, Cashmere? I think the answer might surprise you," he says, all teasing suddenly vanished without a trace.

I start to reply, intending to call his bluff and say that getting some answers for once would actually be a nice change, but Felix loudly clears his throat and glares pointedly at Falco. "Be careful, my friend. You know how people talk."

"Let them talk. I've had enough of the performance anyway, especially now one of the main reasons I maintained it is no longer here to care."

"Think carefully about that. Don't do anything rash that you might regret if…."

"That won't happen. I won't let it happen and neither will you."

I stand perfectly still, trying to make myself as invisible as possible, which I'm guessing isn't very considering how I probably glow in the dark because of my costume, hoping they will forget about me and just keep talking. I am immensely disappointed when the door opens and the woman who had met us in the Entrance Hall yesterday, now wearing an orange dress instead of the yellow one, informs us that it's time to go down to the chariots.

* * *

"She looks fabulous!" our guide exclaims to Felix and Falco as she leads us along the corridor. "You've done an amazing job, Felix. You'd never guess this is the first time you've styled a tribute for the Games!"

I walk slightly behind my stylist and escort, and despite being vaguely annoyed that this woman is once more talking about me rather than to me when I am less than a stride away from her, it isn't her I am focussing on. At the end of the corridor stands a Capitol woman of interminable age who wears a lime green dress and has her hair dyed to match. Standing beside her is Sheen, virtually unrecognisable and now as golden as I am.

As we make our way towards them and the lift doors they stand in front of, my district partner watches me and I watch him, narrowing my eyes when I see a smugly approving expression appear on his face as he stares at me and my almost-dress.

"Don't bother," I say as I stand beside him to wait for the lift. "There's no point in wasting your time dreaming."

"I don't know, Cashmere. We look pretty good together if you ask me," he replies arrogantly.

"Foolish dreams," I say with false lightness, disguising the pleasure I secretly feel at his reaction, which certainly isn't because I desire his approval but because it confirms what I suspected already; I look beautiful and the crowds watching the Opening Ceremony will love me as much as he does.

The lift bell rings and the doors slide open. The five of us step forwards and I can't help looking back down the corridor, expecting Lace and Topaz to appear, but of them there is no sign. The doors close immediately and my eyes meet those of the woman who I assume is Sheen's stylist. She is examining me appraisingly, but a few seconds later she lifts her gaze to focus behind me instead. I know she's looking at Falco, whose presence I can somehow sense even though I've got my back to him.

"I'm surprised you have time to do this as well as your other work," she says.

"You know me, Lucretia, I like to stay busy. It keeps me out of the house."

She smiles in apparent understanding but says nothing further, so I turn to face Falco in the hope that he will continue. I am disappointed yet again when he shakes his head slightly without speaking but I turn back to the lift doors immediately. There is a time and a place for trying to put together the pieces of the mystery that is Falco Hazelwell and this isn't it. I can't think about him now, I have to think of the crowd. They will know if they don't have my full attention and then they will not give me theirs. If that happens then all of this will be for nothing in the end.

* * *

The majority of the other tributes are already waiting for the parade to start by the time the lift doors open and we step out into the chaotic courtyard which forms most of the bottom level of the Remake Centre. I don't get the chance to look around as Felix and Lucretia quickly hustle Sheen and I into our chariot and move us around until we are standing how they want us to. They appear to want us as far from each other as possible in such a tiny space, and I can't say that I'm complaining. It is only when we are finally ready to go that I am able to turn around to see the other tributes for the first time.

The little girl from District Three looks like a startled rabbit, standing completely still as if frozen with fear, and her district partner doesn't seem to be reacting to the situation much better. District Four are a complete contrast, somehow managing to remain dignified and in control despite the ridiculous scaly costumes they are dressed in. The boy is talking animatedly to his stylist but the girl seems more detached. Her eyes meet mine for a second and then she looks swiftly away. Fortunately for both me and him, there is no sign of Finnick Odair.

I scan to the end of the line, trying not to focus on anyone unless they stand out. I don't want to know them, not when every last one of them is going to die. I can't avoid District Seven though. Dressed in their usual tree costumes, they seem somehow stronger than the rest, her almost as tall as him and certainly no less intimidating in appearance. They are obviously forest workers, probably ones who finally took out one tessera too many, I would imagine, as both of them look like this could have been their last reaping. I wonder if they can fight, because if they can then maybe the Games won't be as straightforward as I originally thought. Both tributes are staring at me, and this time I stare back, smiling wryly when he drops his gaze a lot quicker than she does, her dark-green eyes grim, focussed and almost without fear.

It is only the shout that is loud enough to be heard over every other of the many sounds which makes both myself and District Seven turn in the direction it came from. The girl from District Two is standing a short distance from her stylist and district partner just beyond the lifts, her arms fixed rigidly by her sides and her hands clenched in tight fists, looking poised to attack at any second. I can't help noticing how her appearance seems to only enhance her attitude. I'm not quite sure what her stylist was trying to achieve but her metallic dress looks more like a suit of armour than an Opening Ceremony costume, and her black, unevenly cut hair still roughly frames her face in wild disarray.

"Wait until we get in the arena, then I'll show you who's the better fighter," she says, her voice clearly audible due to the sudden silence that fills the entire courtyard. "You'll get it like the rest of them will."

"I've heard it all before, Dahlia," replies her equally fearsome-looking district partner, who appears totally unfazed by her words.

Even dressed up in Capitol clothes, he looks like the sort of man my father would forbid me to so much as look at, which, of course, makes me look all the more. Tall and strong, with dark hair and equally dark eyes, he glares fiercely at the girl quickly before scanning the rest of the courtyard. When his eyes find me, he stops and stares, his expression more one of curiosity than anything else. I smirk back at him and he doesn't drop his gaze like people normally do.

"This way," interrupts the stylist, his tired expression telling me these arguments between his tributes are already becoming a regular occurrence.

"Then you'll know it's true," continues the girl, ignoring him totally. "You know it'll be me who finishes you and there's nothing you can do to save yourself."

"And you know I'm not in the slightest bit scared of you. Save your threats for someone who cares."

I watch with interest as they take up their positions on the adjacent chariot, clearly not sure whether to continue their feud or try to intimidate Sheen and I instead. When they are standing where they should be, they are close enough that I could reach out and touch them, and for a minute we simply stare at each other, not saying a word. Then he steps in front of her and their fight threatens to break out again when she tries unsuccessfully to push him out of the way.

"This doesn't look good for the prospects of an alliance in the arena, does it?" says Sheen, talking to me but deliberately speaking loudly enough for the pair from Two to hear every word.

"Not really, but I'm sure we can all get along while it still suits us," I tell him, matching his tone of voice.

"I'm sure it would be much easier if we could swap district partners," the man from Two says in response, looking me up and down before his dark eyes meet mine. "You seem infinitely easier to get on with than her," he finishes, jerking his head in the direction of the girl he shares a chariot with.

"I don't know about that. I think you'd be safer on your own," I reply with a smirk. "Appearances can be deceiving."

"Then I look forward to being deceived, District One," he says, which only makes his district partner, the girl whose name appears to be Dahlia, glare at me even more.

I start to form a reply but I don't get chance to voice my words, as at that moment the fanfare of trumpets sounds and the gates of the Remake Centre are thrown open. I'm shocked by the sheer volume of noise that hits me, realising immediately that seeing the Opening Ceremony on the television could never prepare me for the reality. It is strange to imagine how it was only this time last year that I had been sat curled up on the sofa at home next to Gloss, watching as Sapphire was paraded through the streets of the Capitol on this same chariot, clad in a dress made entirely of diamonds. She had looked beautiful that night, I can still see her in my mind despite the fact that she is gone, and the memory makes it hard for me to stop myself from reaching for the district token which should be around my neck but isn't so I can wave to the assembled crowd.

The horses that pull our chariot are as golden as we are, and they stride proudly forwards, so oblivious to the almost deafening noise which surrounds us on all sides that I am suddenly unsure if they are real horses at all. The horses we used to ride as children in District One would always shy at the slightest thing, and I lost count of the number of times that Sapphire and I fell off while Gloss looked on in laughter, his naturally calm nature making him a hundred times more skilled than my sister and I put together.

The first thing I notice when that memory of a happier time fades is a giant television screen which takes up most of the side wall of one of the many impossibly luxurious apartment blocks that line the road. It feels strange to be looking up at myself but the camera focuses on me for the entire time I am watching.

"District One! Cashmere!"

I turn in the direction of the loudest calls only to then hear them from the other side of the chariot as well, making it impossible for me to decide where to look. There are people leaning out of open windows in the upper floors of the buildings and they throw masses of rose petals and tiny pieces of shiny paper down so it feels like we are surrounded by strange golden rain. I raise my hands to catch some of it, before throwing it back into the crowd, waving and blowing kisses.

The chanting of my name gets louder as we get closer to the City Circle and the apartment blocks are replaced by mansions, which are set back from the road and therefore give more room for people to stand and watch the chariots go by. I can't help noticing that even though they call for Sheen as well, it is I who seems to have caught their attention.

I look up at the next screen just as my face fades and is replaced by District Two, who stare emotionlessly ahead of themselves as if the crowd aren't there. It wouldn't work for me, of course, but this approach seems to work for them. That is what is expected from District Two's tributes after all. They might be the best fighters in the Games, but they aren't exactly about to win any awards for charm and manners, so they have rarely used a different angle.

The cameras then move from chariot to chariot in district order, showing tributes who mostly appear to be alternating between being terrified and too stunned to move, before they finally reach District Twelve, who are a pathetic looking pair if ever I saw one, covered in coal dust and wearing miner's outfits that look far too big for them as usual. After they are shown for the briefest amount of time possible, Sheen and I appear again and the audience gives a loud cheer. We both raise our arms and wave, which immediately has the desired effect of making them cheer even louder.

I can't help staring back at them almost as intently as they are staring at me. What does it feel like to be one of them? What are they thinking as they stand there in their fine clothes to watch the parade? Most of them look artificial to the point of ridiculousness and I have never seen so many clashing colours in all of my life, but there are a few who seem different. Some of them are attractive, others are not. A lot of the men look like they have had more than one too many of the fine meals that are not even considered a luxury here, and a lot of the women look like they have eaten far too little, but they all have that indefinable _something _that sets them apart from the majority. There are women wearing intricately embroidered dresses and men in immaculate suits with jewels for buttons, a select group who all have an aura that makes them somehow different from the rest.

I know with the instinct of one raised in the midst of the political minefield of District One that these people are the power behind the Capitol, the impossibly wealthy and influential people who are most likely related to those who made the decisions that ultimately led to me being here today. If I could see him then I would put Falco into that group straight away, and I feel the curiosity I have about both him and the rest of the Capitol rise inside me again even as I continue to smile and wave to my countless admirers as we turn into the vast City Circle.

The chariots parade around once before coming to a halt in front of the huge buildings. I look up and see that we have halted directly in front of President Snow's mansion, so I have no choice but to keep focused on him as he reads the Treaty of Treason yet again. I look intently at him, hoping that I appear interested when really I am doing everything I can to avoid hearing his words. I don't want to hear about the reality of the Games. I can only get through this by ignoring reality and thinking solely of the superficial. If I give all my attention to outfits and playing mind games with the other tributes then I can pretend I didn't volunteer to fight for my life and that I won't be in the arena in a few short days.

Before I know it the anthem starts up again and everyone in the City Circle stands to attention. The cameras alternate their focus between each of the chariots, but they also make it clear who is winning this annual popularity contest. Some tributes barely get a second on the huge screens that line the sides of the buildings but Sheen and I, District Two, District Seven and for some reason, District Nine, appear more often than all of the rest put together.

Almost as soon as the anthem finishes, the fanfare of trumpets sounds and our chariot lurches forwards towards the Training Centre.

"Look, I think she loves me," says Sheen, his voice just about audible over the noise of the crowd.

I look in the same direction as him to see a Capitolian girl of about our age, smiling prettily from under her electric blue fringe as she waves at my district partner.

"You'd best hope she's rich then," I reply.

"If she's not then there are thousands of others who will fall for me. There always are," he retorts, his arrogance so pronounced that I'm surprised it isn't visible. I have just about reached the stage where I am convinced he really is deluded enough to believe everything he says.

"And yet I remain totally immune to your…_charms_," I tell him with false lightness, emphasising the last word in a way I hope will tell him that I don't really think he has any.

"You'll give in eventually, Cashmere. You can't lie to yourself forever."

"Ignoring the fact that I don't like you or find you remotely attractive for just a second, why would I do that when I'm going to be facing you across the Cornucopia in five days?"

"You can't help who you fall for and I've never yet met a girl who turned me down."

"You have now," I snap, "but you have a point about not being able to choose who you fall for," I continue as our chariot passes through the huge Training Centre gates and I instantly see Felix and Lucretia waiting for us with Falco standing beside them, exactly as he promised.

Sheen says nothing further, the sulky expression on his face making him look like a spoiled child who is in a strop because he hasn't got his own way, and he continues to ignore me as the chariot stops and we climb down.

"You were both fabulous," screeches Lucretia, so loudly that all of the other stylists and tributes turn to stare at us. "You look amazing, the cameras couldn't stay away!"

"And the whole city's talking about you," adds Felix in a considerably quieter voice, looking directly at me.

"Good," I reply before falling silent as Falco lowers Sapphire's pendant back around my neck.

"I told you that you can trust me," he says, the tips of his fingers brushing my shoulder as he lifts my hair back into place. I shiver when he touches me but if he notices then he says nothing, stepping away straight away.

I turn immediately to look around the courtyard of the Training Centre, watching intently as the other tributes climb down from their chariots and refusing to let anything or anyone distract me from what I have to do. I can hear Gloss's voice in my mind and I know exactly what he would say to me; 'You're here to win the Games, Cashmere, not to get distracted by someone you barely know.' Then I can imagine how his eyes would narrow and how he would make me swear to return to him, and when I think that, I realise I can't let him down.

The mob of reporters who are still shouting questions at virtually any tribute or stylist they can see are slowly making their way over to us, many of them gesturing in our direction to their companions with the cameras. I force my best smile back onto my face and wave to them but inside I want nothing more than to escape for a minute. It suddenly feels very claustrophobic and enclosed here and the gold body paint is starting to make my skin itch. I don't protest when I am suddenly pushed forwards in the direction of the lifts.

"If they get to question and photograph you all the time then the novelty will wear off," says Falco quietly.

Sheen looks vaguely offended but I laugh lightly as I wave to the crowd for the last time.

"I don't get boring," I reply flatly.

"Prove it," he says.

"I will when I get in the arena," I tell him, deliberately misinterpreting his meaning.

He smirks at me and I can tell he wants to say something else, but we come to a halt in front of the lifts and are quickly surrounded by people, so he says nothing.

The two tributes from District Four are there, and I am surprised to also see their Capitol escort, who I remember as being the one who was flirting with Finnick Odair on the stage at their reaping. I genuinely thought that nobody but tributes, stylists and reporters were allowed in this part of the Training Centre straight after the Opening Ceremony but it seems this year is going to be the year to break the rules. The escort of the district I despise more than any other looks across at Falco with that same longing she showed Odair plain to see in her most-definitely unnaturally green eyes. I smile to myself when he doesn't speak to her or even acknowledge her existence.

The fishing district's tributes stare at Sheen and I curiously, but they don't speak either. When the boy whose name I can't remember smiles at me, I ignore him, not wanting to associate with a person I have already sworn to kill. The lift arrives and I immediately walk forwards, sweeping past the girl before she even has chance to move.

"What's with the attitude?" asks Sheen as soon as the doors close.

"I don't have an attitude."

He laughs. "You do. What do you have against District Four? I thought we were meant to be allies."

"It means nothing in the Games," I reply.

"You didn't act like that with District Two, did you?"

"Mind your own business," I snap. "Being from the same district doesn't bind us together."

He doesn't seem to know what to say to that so he falls silent just as the lift bell rings, the doors open and we file out into the main corridor of the first floor.

"Are you ready to give in and tell me yet?" whispers Falco so only I can hear.

"Nowhere near," I reply, lifting my chin high and stalking down the corridor away from him.

* * *

When we arrived at our rooms, which seem to make up the entire first floor of the Training Centre, Sheen and I were immediately ushered into a room that looked remarkably like a larger version of the one we watched the reaping review in when we were on the tribute train. Lace had glared at Falco, commenting with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer that she would have thought such an important person would have somewhere else to be, but he had merely smiled and asked her what could possibly be more important than the Hunger Games. She couldn't contradict him without getting seriously close to treason after that, so she said nothing further when he sat in the armchair next to mine and switched the massive television on so we could relive the Opening Ceremony all over again.

Much to my annoyance, my ridiculously unfair mentor kicked up such a fuss when I tried to leave the room so I could wash all of the golden paint from my skin that I had no choice but to stay there in uncomfortable silence just to stop her from going on. That is how I spent the next few hours, watching the crowds that lined the streets of the Capitol screaming our names as we paraded past them in our chariots, noting with satisfaction that nobody looked as good or stood out as much as Sheen and I.

It had long since gone dark when the programme finally finished by playing the obligatory anthem as the names of the presenters and producers flashed up over a backdrop of still photographs from the evening. I appeared more than any other tribute, something which only seemed to make Lace scowl more fiercely when Falco mentioned it.

As I walk out of the unbelievably luxurious bathroom that is apparently for my sole use, still more relieved than I can say to finally be rid of the dreaded body paint, I can't help wondering why my mentor seems to hate me so much. I don't even know her. What could I possibly have done to upset her so greatly?

Trying to stop myself from dwelling on the subject by telling myself that it doesn't matter what she thinks of me because I don't really need her, I cross the bedroom to the biggest four-poster bed I have ever seen, climbing up the steps that stand by the side of it so I can get in. I lie back for about a second before I realise there is no way that I am going to be able to sleep, so I climb straight back down again, heading out of the room and into the corridor beyond without having any idea where I am going.

The corridor is lit only by dim wall lights and is totally deserted. I have no idea what time it is but I assume that everyone else must have gone to bed, and there aren't even any signs of the Avoxes for whom waiting on us seems to be their sole purpose in life. I push open the nearest door to find a dining room on the other side, the huge mahogany table bare apart from a silver vase which rests at it's centre, full of both red roses and a white flower I don't recognise. Taking a glass from the side and filling it with water, I pull out the chair at the head of the table and sit down, tucking my legs underneath me and propping my elbows on the wood in a way that would have made my father rant and rave and then lock me in my room for a week.

Father always used to do that, thinking that stopping me from going to all of the tedious parties held around the district by it's noblest and richest families was a real hardship. What he didn't know was that I often incurred his wrath on purpose, that I loved not having to play the role of the living doll he wanted his second-born daughter to be. He also didn't realise that when we were children, Gloss had made a hole in the bricks behind my wardrobe, which was back to back on the same wall as his, and that I was still able to squeeze through it long after Gloss grew too big. I used to push myself through the gap in a very undignified manner so I could perch on the edge of my brother's bed as he got ready to go to yet another party that he loathed even more than I did, and I would always be there when he got back, ready to hear the gossip and restore his sanity after a night of mindless, inane chatter. I used to tell him that he should antagonise our father so he could get locked away too, but it wasn't in his nature, it never was, and thinking about that makes me worry about how he is coping now. I miss him so much that it hurts, and I hate the thought of him dealing with the rest of my family alone. What was he thinking when he saw the parade? Was he proud of me, or does he hate me for what I did? I wish I could ask him even if I don't like the answer. If I could only see him again then I wouldn't care.

"You seem to have a strange fondness for lurking in dining rooms, Cashmere," says a voice, interrupting my thoughts and making me visibly jump.

"I couldn't sleep," I reply, looking in the direction of the doorway to see Falco standing there still dressed in the suit he wore to the Opening Ceremony.

"Are you thinking about the Games?"

"Yes… No… I don't know, maybe. What are you doing here? It's late."

"I couldn't sleep either. Do you want some coffee?"

"I don't think that will make me go to sleep, do you?" I tell him, smiling slightly.

"You're awake anyway. And the Capitol has the best coffee."

"The Capitol has the best of everything," I retort, surprised to hear the bitterness in my voice.

"Perhaps not of everything," he replies, and unless I am mistaken, I hear more than a little bitterness there too. He crosses the room, taking off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders as he passes me on his way to the coffee machine that stands on the sideboard furthest from the door. "You looked cold."

"Thank you."

He nods but says nothing more as he gets a drink for me and for himself before coming over to sit at the table next to me.

"So why can't you sleep?" I ask him, suddenly wanting to break the silence.

"Do you really want to know?"

"I wouldn't ask otherwise," I reply, rolling my eyes at him.

He laughs but quickly becomes serious again. "It's complicated. You are from the districts, there is a lot you don't know about the way the Capitol is organised and the way the country is ruled. But you are also untainted by it's corruption."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know what I do when I'm not being your district's Capitol escort?" I shake my head. "I am a government minister, Cashmere. The only person I report to is President Snow himself."

Well that explains a lot, I think to myself. It explains his manner, his apparent untold wealth and influence, the deference he seems to receive from virtually everyone. But does that mean he is partly responsible for the Games, for the way Panem is controlled so totally by this one city?

"What do you do? Are you responsible for the districts?"

He shakes his head. "No. Up until now, everything I have done has concerned only the Capitol. It's economy, the distribution of wealth within the city and so on. I inherited my father's role when he died, I didn't have much choice. Now they want me to become involved with such matters outside the city itself. And the more I see of the districts, the less I like what I see."

"Panem would fall apart without the districts each having their roles," I say cautiously. "If District Eleven didn't grow crops then we would all starve, if District Twelve didn't mine coal then we would have no fuel."

"Is that what they teach you at school, Butterfly? Because they don't tell you about the suffering that exists outside of this city, about how much of it is unnecessary."

"Don't say that. They will hear you and you will get into trouble," I tell him, speaking with all the certainty of one who has been raised to know that to question such things will never result in good.

"Weren't you listening, Cashmere, I am one of _them_, and they won't hear, there are no bugs in this room. Watch what you say in the television room though," he continues, smiling that smile which makes him look no older than I am.

"I'll remember that," I say as I return his smile. "But I mean it, don't say anything they will make you regret. If you haven't a hope of changing something then sometimes it is better to leave well alone. Selfless people end up dead, or worse. And yes, that is District One talking."

He laughs softly. "Did you have no hope of changing something? Is that why you're here?"

"Partly," I reply eventually. "That's complicated too. I can think of at least three reasons why I volunteered for this and they all matter enough to me that I would do the same thing again tomorrow, but that doesn't mean I don't feel scared even if the odds are more in my favour than most," I finish, smirking as I quote one of the Capitol's most famous phrases.

"Would you have been happy had you not got to the stage first and were still in District One? Do you think your life will be better for you if you win?"

"No, not in the long term anyway. And yes, perhaps. At least my brother will be free, then maybe he can help me wash the blood from my hands." Falco looks at me questioningly. "Gloss. My little brother. The only member of my family I have left who I don't despise. I love him more than anything."

"Free from what, Cashmere?" he asks me gently, reaching across the table to take my freezing cold hand in his much warmer one.

"I will tell you, I promise, but I just can't right now. It's a long story and I'm tired. I need to be ready to face the others in training tomorrow or all this effort will be for nothing when I end up dead at the bloodbath."

"You won't," he snarls, gripping my hand tightly and making me jerk my head up to look at him. "Don't even think it. I won't let it happen."

"What will be will be, Falco," I tell him, thinking of Sapphire and everything that happened last year. "Not even government ministers can control fate."

"I can try," he says just as fiercely. "And so can you. Come on, you can't sit here all night." He stands up and pulls me to my feet before walking towards the door.

"And you can't take another step. Just think how Lace would react if she was walking down that corridor now and saw you. She would be scandalised for the rest of her natural life and then she would come back as a ghost to haunt us."

He laughs and that makes me laugh too. "Go on then. I won't move."

"Goodnight, Falco."

"Goodnight, Cashmere. Sleep well."

I smile briefly before turning away and quickly leaving the room without looking back. I can't look back, I won't let myself, because if I did then Gloss would never forgive me.

**So...almost as long as the chapters for my last story, mostly because I never could resist having a backstory for virtually every character I have ever written :) Don't forget to leave a review :)**


	5. Chapter 5

So... This ended up becoming longer than I thought it would...

Chapter Five

"Just get on with it, Cashmere. Nobody is going to be the slightest bit interested in what you look like," calls Lace in her now familiar aggressive tone.

I scowl at her through the mirror and shake my head after she has looked away. I don't understand why she is being like this. As much as I don't like her, I know she isn't stupid, so I don't know how she can be so wrong. She said it herself, the chances of me being a better fighter than either from District Two are virtually non-existent, so I need something else to help me survive, and in a place like the Capitol more than anywhere else in the world, my looks are the best thing I have. And besides, Sheen spends as much time looking in the mirror as I do, if not more, and she doesn't go on at him.

"Topaz, where's Sheen?" I ask my other mentor sweetly at the same time as glaring viciously at Lace. I know where he is because I saw him a few minutes ago. That means I know he's doing exactly what I was doing and checking his hair in the mirror.

"Still in his room, I think," he replies obligingly.

"Go and check on him then, Lace. If you're so convinced that I'm a lost cause then don't bother."

"Maybe I will," she answers, stalking out of the room without a backward glance.

I look across at Topaz but he says nothing. If anything then he looks more afraid than I do and he isn't the one going into the arena in a few days time.

"She's like that with everyone," he says, his voice barely audible. If I didn't know he was a Hunger Games victor then I would say he's intimidated by me, though I'm not sure why.

"No, she isn't, and you know it. She's always obnoxious but she saves a special collection of glares and insults just for me," I tell him casually. I have more important things to worry about than Lace Mortimer and her tantrums.

The door opens again and Falco walks in, his evening suit replaced by more casual-looking trousers and a dark blue jumper.

"Good morning, Topaz. Cashmere," he says, nodding to my mentor and then to me.

I smile in return, relieved to not be left alone and at the mercy of my mentors any longer.

"Did you sleep well?" I ask him, knowing full well that he spent most of the night sat in the dining room talking to me.

"Eventually," he replies, smiling slightly and holding his hand out towards me. I reach forwards and he drops a gold ribbon into my outstretched palm. It matches the fabric of my Opening Ceremony dress exactly. "So the Gamemakers remember who they're looking at," he tells me in explanation.

"Thank you," I say, really meaning my words as I turn back to the mirror and braid the ribbon into my hair. At least there is one person who understands. The next second, the door is thrown open again.

"For the last time, Cashmere-"

I recognise Lace's voice and tone before I even see her as she enters the room with Sheen trailing along behind her. I can't help the satisfaction I feel at how she cuts herself off in mid-sentence when she sees Falco.

"Do you own a dictionary, Lace?" he asks, his voice calm but his eyes hard as he stares fixedly at her. "Because if you do then I suggest you take some time to look up the word 'mentor', as you are clearly struggling with the concept however much you claim to love being here."

Lace turns slightly red and says nothing, then she abruptly sweeps out of the room towards the main door. If anything, the hatred in her eyes as she glances back at me has only grown stronger.

"It's time," says Falco, calmly breaking the silence as if his harsh words to my mentor had never been spoken. I shiver at the ease with which he dismissed her. "This way."

I follow him out of our rooms and down the corridor to the lifts. There is already one waiting to take us to the basement gymnasium where all the tributes train, so I walk inside and Sheen follows me. Falco and Topaz wish us luck but Lace says nothing. When she looks at me I try to keep my expression neutral, but it's hard to do that when all I really want to ask her is why she hates me so much.

* * *

It doesn't take long to reach the gymnasium in the lift, and the doors slide open to reveal a huge wood-panelled room that seems to stretch on forever. I scan the tables which stand at various points around it, smiling to myself when I see one that is almost buckling under the weight of the pile of swords it bears. The one on the top is a long, thin blade that looks exactly like the one I have at home which I have trained with for as long as I can remember.

Virtually all of the other tributes are here already and I can almost smell the fear in this place, but I'm not scared. I can win this. I will win this, there is no other option. Forcing myself to remain by Sheen's side, knowing the importance of the Career Alliance in the early stages of the Games, I step away from the lift doors and scan the vast room's other occupants.

Some of them are little more than children, most of them look terrified, and as I continue to stare at the group, I abruptly realise that all of them, from the tiny girl from District Three to the tall and hugely strong man from District Two, will have to die if I am to live. The powerful-looking girl from District Seven who I couldn't help noticing at the Opening Ceremony yesterday meets my eyes, a silent challenge in her grim expression. I hold her gaze defiantly, determined to give her no reason to believe I am in the slightest bit intimidated or afraid, either of her or of this situation.

"I see the beautiful but impractical one in our alliance has deigned to honour us with her presence," says a low voice from behind me, distracting me from my silent battle of wills with District Seven.

I turn to face the man from District Two without changing my hard expression. "I can't deny my claim to beauty but if you wait for training to start then you'll soon find out I'm far from impractical."

He smirks at that and holds his hand out to me. "Corvinus."

"Cashmere," I reply, taking his hand and refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me react when he squeezes my hand so hard I'm surprised I don't hear my bones crack. As he lets me go and steps back, he lightly drags the back of his hand across the bare skin of my upper arm.

"How appropriate," he retorts as he scrutinises me intently, the smirk never fading.

Sheen then very obviously decides he doesn't want to be left out of this discussion so he pushes past me and Corvinus repeats his introductions, seeming to dismiss my district partner a lot quicker than he did me. I smile when Sheen winces as the man from Two shakes his hand. He's going to have to hide his feelings and emotions better than that if he wants to get very far in the arena.

"Can't they just get on with it," snaps the girl from Two as she stalks over to stand beside her district partner. "It's not like we need the practice."

I look closely at her, feeling tempted to suggest that if that is the case then maybe she should go to her style team now so there is a small chance she may look half presentable for her interview. Instead I settle for something less likely to result in bloodshed.

"You must be Dahlia," I say, after having eventually remembered the name her stylist had called at the ceremony last night at some point when I was lying awake thinking about the other tributes.

She has to look up at me, but only slightly, her short, roughly chopped hair falling forwards into her almost black eyes. She doesn't brush it away. "And you must be number one on my kill list," she retorts, aggressive and full of confidence as she refers to how each tribute's kills are listed under their photograph on the giant screen in the City Circle, showing all those they've killed in district order.

I turn to Corvinus, pleased to see that he seems to have little time for Dahlia and actually looks more interested in me and what my response will be. I roll my eyes in her direction, still talking to her district partner.

"Is she always this deluded or is it a recent change?" I ask, slowly and deliberately tilting my head back to subtly exaggerate how much I have to look up to meet his eyes as I run my hand through my hair. Gloss would kill me himself if he could see me now but I can't help it. I have to do what I have to do, and if my brother was here now then I could at least reassure him that this current part of my master plan doesn't involve the hated fishing district. The only problem is I can see immediately that this current part of my master plan isn't working.

Corvinus stares down at me, but it is the same speculative curiosity I saw at the ceremony last night which is surprisingly dominant in his expression, even if it is still mixed with a small amount of the lust I had been expecting to see in his eyes. Eventually Dahlia clears her throat loudly, which makes him blink rapidly as if waking from a trance I'm not totally convinced is entirely due to me, and his district partner look at me like she's trying to decide what the most painful way to kill me would be.

"We'll see who's deluded when we get in the arena," he says, but his response is a little too slow to convince me. I can't help thinking he might prefer to ally with me than his district partner even if he doesn't seem as easily distracted as virtually every other person I have known.

Sheen reaches across to touch my shoulder as District Two walk away in opposite directions, and he lowers his hand very quickly when I glare at him but he doesn't step away.

"Him? You can't be serious? Why?"

"Are you jealous, little boy?" I ask him mockingly, smiling when his pale face goes slightly red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. I shake my head before rising up onto my tiptoes to whisper in his ear. "Wouldn't you rather work with them than against them at the beginning?" I feel rather than see his nod of agreement so I continue. "Unless you want to try with Dahlia?"

He gives me a half-smile as I step away, looking across the gym to where Dahlia is succeeding in making the feeble-looking girl from District Six feel even more intimidated than she did before, which I am actually surprised is possible. I can't help laughing at the expression on Sheen's face, which is a strange mixture of terror and revulsion.

"I guess we'll leave the plan as it is then," I say, still laughing. "Lace will kill us herself if we don't keep the alliance.

He nods weakly, and I once again consider disobeying my mentor by abandoning my fellow Careers so I can be by myself in the arena. I know that leaves me vulnerable in the beginning and very reliant on sponsors, but when I look at my district partner and District Two, my revision of the official plan doesn't seem such a bad idea. The only one I can see any worth in is Corvinus, and whatever a lot of people think of me, I am not so stupid that I don't realise he would kill me in a heartbeat to win the Games. The only thing I can do is wait and see what happens over the next few days before I make my final decision. All I can say for certain is that it will be my decision and mine alone, and if Lace doesn't like it then she can take it up with me when I see her after the Games.

Sheen tries to guide me further into the room but I push him away, not even wanting to go there with him thinking he can tell me what to do. We walk in opposite directions a bit like Corvinus and Dahlia did, but then everyone stops as the lift bell rings again and the pair from the fishing district stride into the gymnasium. Finnick Odair's tributes. Two poor unfortunates who will be going on my kill list not because of who they are but because of their mentor, who will feel the force of my vengeance if it's the last thing I do.

They both look around at the assembled tributes curiously and virtually without visible fear, their eyes lingering for slightly longer upon Sheen and I and then upon the pair from District Two. The boy, who has hair that is almost the colour of Odair's but without the famously iridescent bronze shine, and his black-haired and distinctly average-looking companion clearly want to join the traditional alliance. I look across the room and my eyes immediately meet Corvinus's, telling me that their wish obviously hasn't escaped his notice either. I nod and he mirrors my gesture. Perhaps I won't stop the alliance. If we are together in the arena then I will be in a better position to avenge Sapphire's death in the only way that is currently available to me, which is by causing her killer the most pain I can.

The next second, my attention is abruptly attracted by a loud crash and two enraged shouts, and I turn to see Dahlia launch herself at the girl from District Seven, who unsurprisingly seems unwilling to back down and rushes forwards to meet her assailant, sending one of the tables flying as she does. What does Dahlia think she's doing? Fighting with another tribute in training? Doesn't she realise how much trouble she will get into? I thought District Two knew enough about the Games to have more sense.

I walk over to them, joining the circle of other tributes who are already there, starting to think that the Gamemakers must have heard this by now. Then a thought occurs to me; maybe they have. Maybe their assessment of us has already begun and they are waiting to see who is a fighter and who isn't. With that thought in mind I step forwards again, determined not to blend into the background. Not that I ever could, especially in this company, but it doesn't hurt to make sure.

Dahlia and the girl from Seven, who I hear her district partner call 'Davena' as he hovers around, seemingly torn between wanting to stop the fight and wanting her to knock Dahlia out, are still really going for each other when I reach the group and stand at Corvinus's side. I wish I knew what they were fighting about despite how I know it could be anything when the girl from Two is as quick to anger as she is.

I look up at Corvinus, not really wanting to get directly involved so deciding to use this as a test to see how much I have his attention.

"You really should stop them," I say. "I would, but…"

I let my words trail off, waiting to see his reaction, which is far from disappointing. He smiles at me, lightening his usually aggressive, fierce expression considerably, and strolls confidently over to the two girls, quite literally lifting Dahlia off Davena and making it look like she is a lot lighter than I imagine her to be.

"That's enough, Dahlia. Stop embarrassing yourself," he says impatiently. "Vikus's pet back at the Training Centre fights better than you do and he's barely ten years old."

I listen intently to their exchange, trying to learn what I can about them in case they reveal anything I might be able to use later, which isn't so very far away from doing what I have done all my life back home, but not a lot of it makes sense. Everyone in Panem has heard of Vikus, the brutal winner of the Thirty-fifth Hunger Games who is still beloved by the Capitol all these years later, but as for the rest, I have no idea. Corvinus said the 'Training Centre', but isn't that where we are now? There is so much we don't know about the other districts, which is exactly how the government likes it, but I can't help my curiosity.

Corvinus drops a viciously struggling Dahlia onto the floor and she hisses at him but doesn't say anything, getting up and crossing to the other side of the gym, where she stands glaring murderously at both her district partner and her opponent. I can't help noticing that Davena looks none the worse for her encounter with the Career from the most feared district in Panem as she stands by her own district partner's side, shrugging her shoulders at his questioning look. I will have to remember that for the arena.

* * *

The doors of the gymnasium swing open and the trainers and assistants walk towards us. Most of the tributes stare nervously at them but they don't really interest me. Nothing is going to happen to us in training because that would ruin the spectacle in the arena. The Capitol won't want any of us harmed if the cameras aren't rolling.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of silver on the floor by the collapsed table, which doesn't seem to concern anyone in the least and therefore goes some way to supporting my earlier theory. I move silently towards it, reaching down to lift the rectangular piece of metal that is suspended from a thin silver chain. When I turn it over, I see that it is engraved with two words and a number: 'Dahlia Vilani 1291'. Now I know who it belongs to even if I don't know what it means. I look up at the girl from District Two in time to see the look of panic appear on her face as she reaches up to her neck and finds it bare.

The head trainer is still talking, seemingly instructing us not to fight each other, in practice or otherwise, so I can't speak, but I raise the token up and Dahlia notices instantly. She looks decidedly like she wants to race across the room and attack me like she attacked Davena so I glare right back at her. I'd like to see her try.

As soon as the head trainer instructs us to begin, Dahlia crosses the gymnasium, running so quickly that I see the assistants prepare to intervene and then relax again as she stops a couple of strides away.

"Give that back, District One. Now!"

"What do you say first? Good manners cost nothing, _District Two_," I reply, unable to resist deliberately antagonising her.

"I mean it," she snaps, getting angrier every second as she watches me twisting the silver necklace around my hand.

I lift it up, studying the engraved number below her name. "What does '1291' mean?"

"None of your business," she retorts, dragging her fingers through her already dishevelled hair, clearly frustrated at how the rules of the Hunger Games training room mean she can't just attack me.

"It obviously means something to you," I continue, noticing how Sheen and the pair from Four are watching our exchange from a short distance away and that our confrontation hasn't escaped the notice of most of the others either. Corvinus moves to stand beside the girl from the fishing district as I watch and it is then that I notice he wears an almost identical token to the one in my hand, the only difference being the slightly tarnished silver ring which is also suspended from the chain around his neck. If I want my curiosity satisfied then maybe I should ask him.

Dahlia turns to see the three trainers who are hurriedly approaching us at the same time as I do, realising they are probably coming to see why we aren't training. Then she looks back to me immediately, knowing she is running out of time.

"Please," she says, the humiliation she feels written all over her face.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" I say arrogantly, holding out the district token that clearly means as much to her as mine does to me. I smile at her retreating back as she heads straight for the knife throwing station after she snatches it roughly from my hand. Victory to Cashmere, in this round at least.

* * *

I have never been able to make up my mind how I should act in training. Sapphire always said she would show the other tributes everything and make them afraid, and I have always imagined myself emulating her, but Gloss's final words to me are still ringing in my ears. He had told me to appear weaker than I am, and when I think about it, that seems sensible too. I am very unlikely to be a better fighter than Dahlia and Corvinus so it might be better to lull them into a false sense of security and hope that surprise at my sudden increase in ability is enough when the time comes. However allowing myself to appear too weak will make me a target as much as appearing too much of a threat. I look across the room to see Dahlia flinging knives at the targets with ferocious abandon, no doubt imagining she is aiming at me after the way I humiliated her, and decide that my pride won't allow me to be seen as the vapid, mindless creature I had intended them to see.

The sword-fighting station isn't far from Dahlia and her knives, and I can't help but notice how she pauses to watch me as I select the long, thin sword that greatly resembles my own. I spar with the assistant who steps forward to meet me, slowly at first but gradually getting quicker and quicker as I begin to relax. It is only when I sense someone watching me that I stop to rest.

When I turn around, expecting to see one of my fellow Careers, I am surprised to see the man from District Seven leaning against the gymnasium wall with a casual arrogance that would easily rival that of Sheen or Corvinus. My first instinct is to ignore him, but then it occurs to me that doing so might not be such a good idea. It isn't completely unheard of for non-Career tributes to take on the Alliance, and both from Seven look like they were born in the famous forests of their district with axes in their hands. It wouldn't do for me to miss an opportunity to make another strong tribute think twice about trying to kill me. Even if it's only for a split second, that could be all the time I need.

"See something you like, District Seven?" I ask, lowering the sword but not putting it down.

"You fight well," he says, the smile on his face that he is trying unsuccessfully to hide confirming the answer to my question.

"A fact you would do well to remember," I reply.

"Don't worry, I won't forget about you, District One," he says as he turns and walks over to another table, lifting the biggest axe I have ever seen with apparent ease. Honestly, some tributes are so predictable.

"You're making a lot of friends, Cashmere," comes a voice from behind me.

"I can't help it," I reply teasingly. "With my looks and personality, I don't really have to try."

Corvinus laughs, lifting a sword from the table and attacking one of the assistants viciously while still focussing on me. My stomach turns at the sight of how easy fighting obviously is to him, knowing how much of a disadvantage I will be at if I have to face him in the arena despite my own intensive training.

"Don't count on your looks to save you when the end comes. You're not that beautiful."

"Do I look stupid to you?" I ask him incredulously. "I can assure you I'm not. Just make sure you're not counting on having too many sponsors because they won't even notice you on the stage when Interview Night arrives."

He shrugs his shoulders but doesn't reply, and not for the first time I reach the conclusion that he isn't really one for words even if he does speak eloquently enough when he chooses to and clearly isn't in the slightest bit stupid. I sigh deeply and lift my sword again, fighting my own assistant but matching Corvinus stroke for stroke, determined not to stop until he does just to prove a point. In the end we don't leave the station until the head trainer instructs us to stop for lunch.

* * *

Lunch is apparently to be served in a relatively small room next to the gymnasium, and I walk through to see two long tables running parallel to each other in the centre with several smaller food-laden ones along the walls around the outside. Taking a plate from a stand by the door, I take what food I want quickly and sit down at the head of the nearest table, ensuring that I have the best view of everyone else. Just like my father always does, I think, and the thought suddenly makes me want to get up again.

Corvinus sits to my right, leaning back casually in his chair to watch as the other table quickly becomes crowded as it fills with tributes, who look like they don't really want to sit together but much prefer it to sitting by us.

"Is it something we said?" I ask my companion teasingly. Having spent the entire morning with him, we have got used to each other in a strange distrustful way, and however uncivilised he is at times, I find myself preferring his company to Sheen's.

"More like something we will do," he replies knowingly. I hope he doesn't notice my instinctive shiver when I hear him talk of the arena in such an offhand way.

"Can we sit here?" asks the boy from Four as he approaches us with his district partner following behind him. What he's really asking is if we can be allies and we all know it.

"I think you'll find room," answers Corvinus, gesturing to the empty chairs that surround us. "I'm Corvinus and this is Cashmere."

"Who can speak for herself," I add. "If she wants to," I continue emotionlessly.

They both look taken aback by my animosity, exchanging slightly nervous-looking glances. I can't say I blame them really. They don't know where my hatred comes from, they don't know what their mentor did, or at least not it's significance to me. They introduce themselves as Octavian and Marcia just as Dahlia and Sheen take seats on opposite sides of the table.

I stare at the wall for what feels like forever as we all sit in a silence that I'd break if I knew what to say. What do you say to the people you know will have to die if you are to live? I wish they'd just let us back into the gymnasium so we could have the distraction of the weapons, but from the look of the attendants who guard the firmly closed doors, there isn't much chance of that.

"What do you think of the Capitol then?" asks Sheen eventually, clearly as desperate for something other than silence as I am.

"We've hardly seen much of it," answers Corvinus quickly, and from the fierce look on his face, I would guess he prefers silence.

"Did you see all of the people at the Opening Ceremony? They all lined the streets for us," adds Octavian, sounding much younger than his years.

I don't know how old he is as I can't remember from the reaping review, but I know he is younger than me. From what I've seen, they do things differently in District Four, and while Octavian and Marcia may have had training, they are also the tributes whose names were drawn from the reaping ball on reaping day rather than volunteers. Sitting next to Corvinus, Octavian looks and sounds like a child.

"Of course they did," snaps Dahlia. "This is the biggest show in Panem."

Octavian doesn't seem to notice her aggressive tone of voice, and he proceeds to talk about his experience of the Opening Ceremony like he is amongst friends rather than five people who will be looking to kill him a few short days from now. I am happy to let him talk, because when he's speaking there is no silence but no need for me to make conversation either. However, by the time Sheen joins in, I start to get bored and begin looking around the table at the others. Seeing Dahlia's district token makes me remember my earlier curiosity, so I turn to her district partner, wondering if I will get a more satisfactory response from him.

"Why are your district tokens the same? What do the numbers mean?"

He looks at me without speaking for so long that I don't think I will get an answer, but then he shrugs his broad shoulders. "Every child who…fights to come here," he says in a low voice, obviously choosing the right words due to it technically being illegal to train for the Games, "gets a token like this with a number on it. I have no family, neither does Dahlia or virtually every other District Two tribute who has been here before us. We need something to take into the arena and this has become a sort of tradition."

I nod, struck once again by how well the Capitol manage to keep us segregated. I really know nothing about the place he comes from, just like he knows nothing about District One. Then my eyes focus on the silver ring, which is far too small for him to wear on his hand.

"You might have no family but that isn't yours," I say, gesturing to it.

He shakes his head. "You miss nothing, do you? Just make sure you remember what curiosity did." I laugh lightly, my eyes stubbornly not leaving his, and he eventually continues. "No, it isn't mine, and it's only fair to warn you, my battle prize wants it back."

"She won't if she knows you call her that," I reply, guessing wildly.

"She knows," he says immediately, the look on his face telling me both that my guess wasn't far wrong and that this part of our conversation has well and truly ended.

"Why do you wear that?" he asks quickly when I ignore his warning and open my mouth to ask him another question, gesturing to Sapphire's necklace. "It's my turn to interrogate you now."

"It's my sister's," I tell him. I know my words imply that Sapphire is still alive, but I don't want to talk of what happened to her to someone I barely know who is supposed to be my enemy. And anyway, I might have worn it for only slightly less than a year now, but I still think of it as hers.

"Too bad you won't be able to give it back to her."

"It's mine now," I say, narrowing my eyes at him and the sudden reminder of where we are. "But I will live to wear it back to District One and you won't stop me."

"He won't, but I will," interrupts Dahlia. "I don't like you, District One."

I smile sarcastically before melodramatically feigning terror as I turn to Corvinus. "How will I find the courage to live now? How will I sleep at night when I know she doesn't like me?"

"I kill people I don't like," she snarls. I actually think she means it.

"You can try," I reply, deliberately sounding almost bored as I lean back in my chair and scan the room. "I don't think you'll find it easy."

She opens her mouth to speak again but just as she does, a bell rings and the doors to the gymnasium are thrown open again. Lunchtime is over.

"Can you stand the pace for a whole day, Cashmere?" asks Corvinus as he quickly stands and heads away from the table, looking back at me with a challenge in his eyes.

"Of course. I'm not sure if you can though," I reply, knowing that I will suffer later for trying to match him but remaining unwilling to let him win.

* * *

The rest of the day passed quickly. Despite our words to each other, my challenger and I did go our separate ways for some of the time, and I have spent the rest of my time in the gymnasium alternating between sword fighting and some of the more obscure weapons stations, sometimes alone and sometimes with Corvinus and/or Sheen. I don't want anything more to do with the pair from District Four than is absolutely necessary and I have avoided Dahlia as mush as possible, knowing that putting myself in her way will only induce the inevitable confrontation that has to wait until we get in the arena. That means I have avoided all of the stations that involve knives, the traditional weapon of choice for the female tributes of District Two, which doesn't really matter to me anyway as I most definitely don't share my enemy's lethal ability. I tried a few times back home, but Gloss was always better at it than I was so I had quickly reverted back to my sword rather than allow him to defeat me. Now I'm starting to wish I hadn't.

I am last to leave the gymnasium when the first day's training is closed, mostly because one of the trainers called me back, coming to me with a request from his daughter that I sign a copy of my photograph that had appeared in all of the newspapers this morning following the Opening Ceremony. I am still smiling to myself as I walk down the deserted corridor towards the lifts, happier than I can say that my plan to win the support of the audience seems to be working. Maybe I can be the Finnick Odair of this year's Games. However that smile quickly disappears when I see the person who is also walking down the corridor but in the opposite direction, moving quickly towards me.

I was only twelve years old when Enobaria Moreno won the Sixtieth Hunger Games, but I remember watching her as vividly as if it had taken place yesterday, and not just because of the way she disposed of her final opponent that made her famous throughout Panem. Her whole Games had been violent, bloody and brutal, with a small enclosed arena and a proportion of strong and skilled tributes that many considered too high to be entirely coincidental ensuring there was no shortage of battles to keep the audience entertained.

Enobaria hadn't been one of the favourites to win to start with, she was too small, she didn't look strong enough, they thought the scars that covered her body would have made her weak, but that swiftly changed after the initial bloodbath. The Capitol has seen many skilled Career Tributes, but there was something about the girl from Two that year, something about the look in her eyes when she fought that made it look like she was mentally somewhere else entirely. Whoever it was she had been fighting in that arena, it certainly wasn't her fellow tributes, and even at the time I had wondered what had happened to her to make her half driven mad by hatred.

I find myself hoping that she will keep walking and go straight past me, that I won't have to find out for myself whether or not the madness which possessed her six years ago has faded over time, but it clearly isn't my lucky day.

"You've got to be District One," she says. Her strangely accented voice sounds like a much more refined version of Dahlia's, and is surprisingly soft as well as being more menacing than any other I have heard before.

"Well, actually I'm Cashmere," I reply dryly, instinct telling me that showing weakness or fear isn't a good idea.

She looks me up and down without speaking and I take the opportunity to do the same to her, curious despite my apprehension. She is shorter than me by at least a head and is a lot lighter than the tribute she mentors, both in weight and skin colour. She and Dahlia could almost be of two entirely different species. I can't help noticing that the scars she bore as a tribute girl are nowhere to be seen on the young woman who stands before me. Whoever it was who gave her a makeover must be a braver person than I.

"I've heard all about you," she continues eventually. "Two entirely contrasting opinions."

"No great surprise there, is there?" I retort immediately.

She laughs coldly and shakes her head, making her long black hair fly around suddenly before it settles down again to cover her shoulders.

"It won't work. Relying on Corvinus to protect you, I mean," she says, her cold grey eyes meeting mine for the first time. "Even if he was stupid enough to fall for you then he won't win the battle between my tributes."

I involuntarily flinch back, realising immediately that whatever it was that possessed her is still there, making her as dangerous as she ever was.

"I rely on nobody but myself," I reply conversationally, "but it doesn't hurt to try either. A bit of insurance, really. Everyone needs allies. You know, you're very beautiful. I'm surprised you never tried it yourself."

Her face suddenly goes blank at my final words, making her appear so cold and emotionless that she barely looks human. "I'd kill myself first," she hisses, before spinning on her heel and vanishing back the way she came.

I stare after her for a long time when she disappears from sight, wondering what it was I said that affected her so greatly.

* * *

I know it's probably only the after-effects of being in Enobaria's presence making me nervous, but I can't escape the feeling that someone is watching me. I spin around in the middle of the enclosed corridor, shivering even though I see nobody. I have never liked small, windowless spaces like this, and it's a real effort to stop myself from running towards the lifts. I force myself to walk calmly, but so intent am I upon escaping, I don't notice the man who is waiting by the sliding doors until I am almost standing beside him.

"District One, I presume," he says, but his voice is somehow kind and gentle sounding rather than being anything like the accusatory snarl I got from Enobaria.

I nod in response, watching him as he reaches out to press the call button for the lift even though it's already illuminated, a slight hint of impatience in his manner. When the doors finally slide open, he stands back to allow me to go first and then follows closely after. He presses the button for Level One first, but it isn't until he presses for Level Three that I remember who he is. He is District Three's mentor, the one their girl tribute had been trying to hide behind as she stood on the stage on Reaping Day. He isn't old but he isn't young either. My guess at mid-forties was probably about right. I can see grey streaks just starting to appear in his black hair and when he removes his glasses to look at me, his dark eyes appear sad and tired. That must be what being a victor does to you when you come from a district like his. But perhaps it isn't just for those from districts like his. Maybe that is what will happen to me if, I mean when, I win.

"I expect you feel as frightened as everyone else really, don't you?" he says. "You just hide it better than most." It's almost like he is speaking to himself as much as to me, and though he gives nothing away, I can't help but remember the tiny tribute girl he mentors and imagine he is thinking of her.

"Fear gets you nothing but death," I tell him, somehow unable to raise my voice or mock the quiet but dignified man before me.

He nods once as the lift bell rings but doesn't speak again. The next second, the doors slide open onto Level One to reveal Sheen standing there with an almost anxious expression on his face that immediately makes me suspicious and think he was doing something he shouldn't have been.

"Where have you been?" he says, looking curiously behind me as the man from District Three disappears from view.

"Did you miss me?" I ask him jokingly, smiling slightly when he stares silently back at me. For a second, he looks like he doesn't quite know what to do or say, but then he shrugs his shoulders and his normal arrogant smile returns.

"Lace missed you," he replies eventually. "I don't think she enjoys interrogating me anywhere near as much as she does you."

"That figures," I say with a roll of my eyes. "One of the trainers asked me to sign my Opening Ceremony picture for his daughter. Then I bumped into Enobaria," I finish ominously.

"Who?"

"Dahlia's mentor. Sharp gold-tipped teeth, famous for biting into the throat of one of her opponents six years ago. Surely you know who she is? I imagine she'd be hard to forget even for you."

His eyes light up in recognition and he ignores my insult in favour of questioning me further.

"Did she speak to you? What did she say? Was Dahlia there?"

"Yes, but she didn't say a lot. I didn't exactly want to wait around as she hasn't got any less terrifying. Dahlia wasn't there though. Neither was Corvinus."

Sheen scowls at the mention of our other ally from District Two. "It wasn't all bad then."

I shake my head and start down the corridor again, not wanting to get into yet another debate about our 'allies'. I obviously don't speak my mind, but by the time we have reached the currently empty dining room, I still can't think of many good reasons for continuing to work with any of them. Sheen is worse than useless, Dahlia wants to kill me in the most painful way imaginable, and every time I look at Octavian or Marcia, all I can think of is Finnick Odair. I need to make my mind up and quickly.

I sigh deeply when the next thing I hear is Lace's voice drifting in through the open door. Here we go again. I wonder what I will have done wrong this time. Maybe I will have breathed too many times throughout the day for her liking. Then I laugh to myself when I realise that the fact I am breathing at all is probably enough to irritate my mentor.

"Haven't you got a party to organise?"

"I don't organise, Lace. I pay someone else to organise instead," sounds Falco's voice immediately afterwards, the epitome of Capitol arrogance.

He smirks at me when he walks into the room slightly ahead of her and Topaz and I can't resist returning his look. He seems to love deliberately antagonising her and it amuses me far too much for me to wish he would stop.

"You're organising a party?" I ask.

"Be quiet, Cashmere. That's none of your business," snaps Lace in return.

"She can ask if she wants to," Falco replies quickly before turning his full attention to me. "Yes. It's to celebrate the Games." My shock must show on my face because he continues immediately in a much quieter voice. I can see Sheen and Lace straining to hear him. "It was my father's tradition, not mine, but I'm still expected to carry it on."

I nod, sensing that he doesn't want to say any more than that now, and we both fall silent. I let my mind drift away as Lace immediately begins to interrogate Sheen about the events of today's training session. She has clearly decided not to bother with me and I can't say that I'm at all disappointed. I don't need her help. I'm not relying on her, I only rely on myself. Now I just have to come up with a plan that I actually believe will work.


	6. Chapter 6

_I want to start this chapter by freely admitting that I know I'm pushing canon with this - to Gethsemane, I send virtual painkillers to relieve the pain of excessive head shaking (the final scene is for you as compensation ;)), to the rest of you who are reading this story, I ask you to play along with this for the sake of the rest of the plot. This one is mostly back- and future-story - it will be back to the Games next week, I promise..._

Chapter Six

I walk slowly down the corridor, knowing that it's only a matter of time before someone appears with the sole intention of either telling me to do something or shouting at me for not doing what I was supposed to. I should have gone to the television room to talk about my arena strategy like Lace and Topaz asked me to, I know that, but after a day of training which was exactly like the first, I feel very much like I feel at home: Tired of constantly monitoring both my words and actions and everyone else's, desperate for some time to myself where I can simply be Cashmere without having to hide behind the mask I present to the world. At least at home I had somewhere to hide and an accomplice to hide with. Here the performance never stops.

However, when I walk past the door to the dining room, I notice that it stands slightly open rather than being tightly closed like it was before. I know I should try to, but I simply can't resist. I step forwards and tentatively push the door, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart as I peer around it into the grand room that I'm still not entirely used to.

I don't know who I was expecting but I certainly didn't think I would see Falco, who stands close to the floor to ceiling window on the far side of the room with his back to me, staring out at the City Circle below. He turns when the door creaks and I scowl at myself for not being more careful to be silent.

"You'll have to do better than that in the arena, Cashmere," he says, his tone quietly mocking.

"I don't think they'll have doors like that in the arena," I reply, unsure if I should be angry that he thinks he has the right to tease me, annoyed with myself because I gave him an excuse to, or curious about the emotions that lie behind the way he sometimes looks at me, the way he is looking at me now. A combination of the three is the result, and my voice sounds less certain and confident than usual when I ask him what I really want to know. "What happened to your party? Will it still be the social event of the century without you?"

"If you're going to be difficult then I will go alone," he replies, the sudden change in his body language and expression abruptly reminding me who I'm talking to and putting me back on the defensive.

"I'm never easy," I tell him, and I can see from his almost imperceptible smile that he doesn't miss my double meaning for a second. "But what do you mean 'you'll go alone'?" I continue, finding that my defensiveness is maintained for less and less time each time I see him.

"I was thinking it might be more entertaining for all concerned if we tried a different approach to gaining sponsorship this year. I'm going to take you to the party."

I stare at him in disbelief, and my shock must be written all over my face because he laughs softly in response.

"If you don't want to see the Capitol then you can stay here. It would mean giving me an explanation for why you volunteered though. You never did tell me any more than what you said two nights ago."

I realise he's got me trapped then, for I can't decline without having to explain the real reason I raced to the stage on Reaping Day. And anyway, even if I wasn't telling him the whole truth when I had said I only volunteered so I could see the Capitol, I wasn't lying either.

"Are we taking Sheen with us?" I ask, trying to remain nonchalant and to keep the anticipation I suddenly feel from showing in my voice and body language as I allow myself to be almost convinced he's being serious.

"I think you know the answer to that, Butterfly. The quickest way to lose his sponsors would be for them to meet him."

"What makes you think I'll be any different?"

He walks over to me and pushes a bundle of scarlet red fabric into my hands. "Stop digging for compliments and put that on."

I unfold the bundle, shaking it out to reveal an elaborate and obviously Capitol-made evening dress that looks far finer than anything I've seen at home, even in Satin's wardrobe.

"Tributes aren't allowed to leave the Training Centre."

"There's no official rule that says they can't, it simply isn't something that is usually questioned. When the Games first started the tributes were allowed to appear in public during the build-up to the arena as it gave the sponsors a better idea of where their money was going. It might be so frowned upon now that few people even think about it, but as long as I don't parade you around the City Circle then we should be safe enough." He looks at the dress in my hands and smiles. "This way those who can make a difference won't forget you. You don't get much in the arena with nothing more than spoiled little boys sending in half their allowance money because they want to see your pretty face on the screen for a bit longer."

Then I suddenly realise why he's doing this. He wants to make sure the Capitol remembers me so they will sponsor me when they see me in the arena. I'm not a hundred percent certain that I trust his logic and reasoning but if he's happy then why shouldn't I be? What better way to show I am confident and fearless than for those with the sponsorship money to see me in person so I can tell them myself? I run from the room to my own, changing clothes in record time before returning without even bothering to look in a mirror.

I am careful with the door this time, and silently open it just enough for me to slide inside the room, smiling smugly at his still turned back as he continues to stare out of the window, oblivious to my presence. I cough quietly after a few minutes and he turns around, scanning me appraisingly but saying nothing. I feel like I have been standing there forever and still he doesn't look away.

"Maybe I could cope with doors like that in the arena," I say, talking to fill the charged silence, well aware that the intensity of his gaze is making me nervous and more self conscious than I have ever felt before. I hate my weakness.

He closes the distance between us and reaches behind me to unclip my hair, arranging my blonde curls over my shoulders.

"That's better," he says, before continuing in a more serious tone. "You're going to win the Games, Cashmere. I know you are."

"That's what I said to her," I whisper without thinking, not realising what I had said until it was too late.

"Said to who?" he prompts gently.

"It doesn't matter," I reply lightly. "So are we going to get me some sponsors then?"

"I knew you'd get used to the idea," he says, looking a lot more relaxed than I feel. "When we get there, there will be a huge crowd of people and most of them will look at me." I raise my eyebrows at that and he smirks back. "That's not arrogance, it's the truth. Everyone in this city knows me, it's one of the dubious perks of the job."

"And what will I be doing while you are basking in the adoration of those who worship you?"

He shakes his head, still smiling. "I wish I'd met you years ago. Hardly anybody dares to tease me now. I never thought I'd miss it but I do."

"Maybe if I'd known you years ago then I wouldn't dare to tease you either," I reply. "But don't change the subject. You didn't answer my question."

"Try to blend in," he says with a smile that tells me he isn't totally convinced I'm capable of doing such a thing. "Don't introduce yourself to anyone unless I introduce them to you first. Don't stay in the same position too long and don't stare at anyone or let them stare at you."

"Why?" I ask incredulously. "That's stupid. Not that I make a habit of staring at random people, but still…"

He drags me over to the massive mirror that takes up most of one wall, turning me so I can see my reflection.

"Look at yourself, Cashmere. At first glance you look like just another person who lives here, a very beautiful one, of course, but you could blend in nevertheless. But if they look closer then they'll notice your features are that little bit too soft to have been polished and perfected by a surgeon's knife, they'll realise that if you'd had cosmetic surgery to your body then the one who operated on you would never have left behind what he or she would have seen as small blemishes," he continues, resting the tip of his forefinger over the tiny mole I've always had on my shoulder. "Then they will know you aren't one of them and then they will start asking questions. That's what we don't want."

I don't quite know what to say to that so I say nothing and keep staring at his reflection in the mirror. He meets my gaze steadily until in the end I give in first and look down at the floor. Then he takes my hand and pulls me towards the door, letting go when we reach the corridor as he decides he trusts me to follow him. I don't give him reason not to.

* * *

The corridors of the Training Centre are virtually deserted as Falco and I make our way to the main doors. Despite his reassurance, part of me expected him to have to smuggle me out through a side entrance, and even though he walks along as casually and at ease as ever, I can't help jumping whenever I see movement, expecting someone to try to stop us from leaving.

"Cashmere, would you relax? You're making me nervous," he tells me, sounding more amused than anxious.

"I can tell," I reply sarcastically. "You look positively terrified."

"I never allow other people to see what I'm feeling inside unless I choose to let them," he tells me, with a slight sadness in his voice. "An essential skill of the job."

"And an essential part of living where I live in District One," I say before I can stop myself, "but it seems I'm not as good at it as you are."

"You're not so bad," he replies, turning to face me as we keep walking. "You're better with Sheen and Topaz than with Lace."

"Lace hates me."

"Lace has her own issues. You just happen to be there for her to take her rage out on."

"It isn't fair. I haven't done anything to her. And she's supposed to be helping me."

"She _can _help you. Use her to teach yourself how to hide what you're really thinking. When she shouts at you, don't give her the reaction she wants." My eyes meet his as I think about his words, which suddenly sound more than sensible. "I would suggest you try the same approach with me, but I don't think I want you to conceal your thoughts from me."

"How do you know I don't?" I retort, pouting slightly at the thought that he finds me so easy to read.

"Oh, you do, but only sometimes. Only when you make a conscious effort to do so."

"Stop acting so superior or I'll go back upstairs," I snap. His sole response is to smile and pull me further down the corridor. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"You'll see," he replies as he continues to lead me out of the Training Centre and then towards a huge black car that waits on the City Circle road.

He holds the door open for me before climbing in to sit beside me, leaning forward to tap the blacked out screen in front of us. The car begins to move almost immediately, and I lean around so I can gaze out of the window at the Capitol streets that pass slowly by.

There are many, many people walking along, a lot of them dressed in fine clothes and clearly also heading out for the night. It's dark by now but the streets are bathed in fluorescent light that is equally as bright as daylight, most of which seems to come from either the shop windows or the tall lampposts that are set evenly spaced along the pavements. Some of the men and women and most of the children stare at the car as we drive past and I stare back at them, suddenly grateful they can't see me. It's not that I would object to the attention but that I love to have the chance to watch them, to see the way they act, the places where they live, the places where they shop for items that are everyday to them and impossible luxuries for me.

"Is it always like this?" I ask Falco as we drive past what looks like a theatre, which has a large crowd of brightly dressed people waiting to go in, all talking animatedly amongst themselves and buying food, drink and leaflets from white-uniformed attendants who weave their way around them.

"Always," he replies. "This is the Capitol. The very best and the very worst of Panem all mixed together in one big city that never stops."

"People back home say that District One is like the Capitol but smaller. Now I know they were lying. They probably haven't even been here."

"Probably not, but you have. You wanted to see this and now you have."

"You still haven't told me where we're going."

"I have. We're going to the party to get you some sponsors, you know that."

I am about to tell him that telling me that isn't the same as telling me where we're actually going, but at that moment the car veers to the left and we drive down into a underground tunnel, which dips down and then quickly begins to rise up again. It is total darkness outside until I am almost blinded by the light that streams in through the windows. I move to sit forwards so I can look out but Falco pulls me back.

"Wait for a second."

"Why?"

He just looks at me, seemingly amused by my constant questioning but apparently not amused enough to give me any real answers. A few seconds later, the car stops and he nods in the direction of the window.

"Now you can look."

For some reason I look up instead of down first and see immediately that we are inside still, and that the bright light my eyes have only just become accustomed to is flooding in through the massive glass windows which form the ceiling and the top layer of the walls. The light is artificial now, but I can't help wondering if it is the natural light of the sun which lights the building by day. The windows are framed with intricately patterned silver ivy leaves, and they throw shadows and flashes of light onto the walls around them. It's beautiful. I've never seen anything like it before in all my life.

I turn to face Falco and he immediately gestures back out of the window, smiling at my reaction. I look down again to see a vast expanse of space, lined with shops on all sides that seem to continue on into three separate corridors all leading off a central point. There are people everywhere, most of them laughing and joking, some walking around and others sitting down, but all of them looking like they haven't a care in the world. A few seconds later, I realise that they probably haven't, not in the same way as I have anyway. They won't be fighting for their lives in less than four days time. But I mustn't think about it like that. The Games is something I have to survive, something I _will _survive. A means to an end, nothing more and nothing less, and it is that thought that makes me block out all the rest as I continue to stare down in amazement at the sight before me.

I have obviously never seen this place before, but I recognise it. This is the Shopping Centre Charis and Callista were telling me about, the one that sounded like something out of a dream rather than reality. It looks like something out of a dream too, and I have to blink several times to reassure myself I'm not seeing things.

"Is that real silver?" I ask Falco eventually, focussing on the huge fountain in the centre of the main hall. The water that flows through it looks like liquid silver but falls through the air like a rain of diamonds.

Falco smiles and shakes his head. "No. If it was then it would be too hot to go anywhere near it, and that water is freezing cold. Trust me, I know."

I raise my eyebrows, silently asking him to elaborate, and he laughs.

"I was a very curious child, Cashmere. I was here one day with my friends and we were trying to decide what would happen to us if we walked across the fountain. My only defence is that Felix dared me to do it."

This time it's me who laughs, struggling to reconcile the mental image I have of a young Falco standing in the fountain surrounded by water droplets that look like diamonds with the man who sits beside me.

"Maybe you should try it again," I say teasingly, imagining the newspaper headlines that would undoubtedly result from a well-respected government minister climbing into a shopping centre fountain.

"If I do then I'll drag you with me," he replies before abruptly becoming serious once more. "Seriously, when you win the Games, I'll bring you here."

I smile, feeling excitement at the prospect of exploring this place that is straight out of my fantasies even as the mention of the Games jolts me roughly back to reality. He seems to sense my emotions and taps on the screen for the driver to continue.

"It will happen, you'll see."

I don't speak, wishing I had his confidence but not quite willing to admit that I don't.

* * *

However determined I remain not to let the awe I feel at the sight of the Capitol show on my face, I cannot help but stare as Falco opens the car door for me and I step out to look up at the grand house before me. We walk along the path towards the entrance, which is lined with brightly coloured flowers I have never seen before. They are like nothing we have at home, and their fragrance hangs in the air, so strong it makes me feel slightly light-headed.

As we climb the stairs to the front door, which he pushes open with an easy familiarity, Falco looks back at me with an amused expression that he isn't even bothering to attempt to conceal. I glare back in response, annoyed that the wonder I feel at the sight of this place shows so clearly.

"Whose house is this anyway?" I ask snappily as we cross a hallway that is the same size as most people in District One's entire house.

"Mine," he replies. "My father died last year and I inherited it."

"I'm sorry," I reply softly.

"Don't be. We didn't exactly have the best of relationships."

"Why?"

"You tell me your secrets and I'll tell you mine."

"I'll use my imagination," I retort, but there's no real venom in my voice as I continue to try unsuccessfully not to gawp at my surroundings.

"Admit it, Butterfly, you're impressed," he teases. "You don't have to pretend not to be."

I turn to face him, drawing myself up to my full height, which will unfortunately always be a little bit more than a head shorter than him.

"There's dirt on the carpet," I reply flatly, pointing my finger underneath an elaborately carved sideboard.

He laughs, the sound ringing around the room so it seems to fill even that enormous space, and holds his arm out to me, holding me just the tiniest amount too close for strict propriety as he leads me along the corridor.

"I can see you're not easily pleased."

"You'd better believe it."

He smiles but says nothing further, and all I can hear is the seemingly distant beat of music which seems to be getting steadily louder the closer we get to the double doors at the end of the wide corridor.

"Relax, Cashmere," he says, squeezing my arm before releasing me.

"I'm not tense," I reply stiffly, smiling slightly all the same.

He smirks at both me and my obvious lie as he pushes the doors open, and when he does, I am immediately hit by a wall of sound. The combination of people talking, glasses and plates clashing and the music is almost overwhelming. Everyone stops to stare as we walk forwards, though whether they are staring at him or me, I'm not sure. Either way, it feels good to have their attention, like being at home in a way and yet somehow different. I feel strangely reassured that even in a place like this, I can still make people stop and stare. Then I remember that I'm not supposed to be staring at people or letting them stare at me, so I look swiftly away.

* * *

I stand in the doorway, watching as Falco greets everyone he sees, seeming to care deeply for each and every one of them despite how he convinced me during our journey here that he actually despises the vast majority of them. Eventually this gets boring so I slowly edge my way further into the enormous ballroom, unable to avoid noticing how everyone seems to be staring at me like I've just appeared out of thin air in a puff of smoke.

I try to tell myself that I'm being paranoid and simply noticing them more because I can't shake the feeling I have that I shouldn't be here. Falco has reassured me that hardly any of them will recognise me now I'm away from the hype and publicity that surrounds the Games, and that there are more than enough 'famous' people here to distract the mob, so knowledge of my identity is unlikely to explain why they are all staring and that means there must be another reason. Am I really so extraordinary in this place? This place would have us believe that beauty is commonplace here, though having said that, looking around me at the garishly dressed, surgically altered people who surround me, I can see very little to confirm that statement as the truth. Maybe it is the place not the people that possesses the beauty, for as I look at the limitless luxury surrounding me, I can't see how that could be denied.

Holding my head up high, refusing to look away when my eyes meet theirs in spite of Falco's warning, which is still echoing in my mind for more than one reason, I soon find myself at the edge of an expanse of space that seems to be there for dancing upon, though my fellow guests currently appear to prefer eating and gossiping.

I remember when Sapphire was alive and we used to dance at parties, usually more to relieve our boredom than for any other reason, and I remember how everyone used to stop what they were doing to watch. When we were little, Father used to tell us off for doing it, saying that we have no manners and that we act like we were dragged up in the slums of District Twelve rather than raised to be upper class ladies of District One. He slapped my face when my thirteen year old self's first response was to say that we can't help looking so good that we distract everyone. After that, we both did it all the more just to annoy him, knowing he wouldn't stop us because he wouldn't dream of causing a scene in public.

As we grew older he stopped objecting, noticing the hungry gazes we got from wealthy onlookers and no doubt planning to sell us to the highest bidders even then. But if Father stopped caring then Gloss quickly took his place for very different reasons. He hated dancing of any kind but he did it anyway, spinning me around on his one side and Sapphire on the other, waiting to pounce on anyone who came near either of us unless we wanted them to, and more often than not even when we did. I feel a pang of grief that is stronger than I have felt for many weeks at the thought that we will never dance again.

The music that begins to play is apparently typical of the Capitol, with strange-sounding instruments and a singer with a high pitched voice that would sound out of place anywhere but here. The rhythmical beat is familiar though, and I can't help swaying in time with it, eventually jumping and spinning like I haven't done since before Sapphire left me, imagining that she will walk through the ballroom doors and join in any second now. I am lost in it, totally oblivious to everything but the music and my memories, dancing for both of us because she should be with me.

Then the music finishes with a flourish and I return abruptly to reality, barely out of breath because of my many years spent training for the Games. The huge room around me is entirely silent, and as I look around, I see that a circle of people has formed and I am at it's centre. They are all whispering to each other and staring, and for once I am lost for words. It hadn't been my intention at the time, it wasn't planned, but from the way most of the people are looking at me, once they work out who I am, I might have started to achieve my objective for the evening and attracted a few sponsors.

"So much for being discreet. They'll have trouble forgetting you after that," comes a voice from behind me.

I spin around to see Falco staring down at me, his expression as unreadable as his voice. His eyes meet mine and neither of us look away, at least not until we hear footsteps approaching, making a clicking sound as the heel of each shoe hits the polished wooden floor. It takes several seconds before the sound of those footsteps is blocked out by the noise which signifies the party has recommenced.

"Are you intending to make a habit of bringing your work home with you or is this a one off occurrence?" asks an almost squeaky voice with such an extreme Capitol accent that it takes me a second to process the woman's words and then a fraction of the time to get very offended.

"You're embarrassing yourself, Astoria. Don't make a scene," answers Falco, with a coldness I have never heard before appearing in his voice.

The woman, who I suppose is a great but very artificial-looking beauty if seen through the eyes of the Capitol, struts over and makes a great show of clinging to Falco's arm, simpering when he looks at her but quickly narrowing her eyes at me when he looks away.

"I'm not making a scene, dearest. This is very exciting. I've never seen a Hunger Games tribute before," she says, looking at me as if she is examining a caged animal at an exhibition. I glare straight back at her, temporarily forgetting I am supposed to be blending in, and she laughs. "Forgive me, I am Astoria Hazelwell," she continues.

'Hazelwell'? That would make her…well, she certainly isn't his sister. How could I be so stupid? How could I let myself be fooled by him? I did, even if I would barely admit it even to myself. I believed the way he looked at me meant something deeper than simple lust or curiosity. It's the Games that did this, that made me drop my guard in a way I never would at home, simply because I have been thinking of so many other things. I haven't told him everything, but I've told him something of my past, I've talked to him as myself, not as the Cashmere most of the world sees, and now I feel betrayed even if I don't truthfully have a right to.

"Cashmere de Montfort," I reply quietly and calmly, having to use every last bit of my District One upbringing to keep my voice and expression steady and neutral. "Hopefully you will see me again."

"I will definitely see you on my television screen in three days time," she says, sounding very much like she is hoping to see me fall at the bloodbath.

"Yes, you will," I tell her, pointedly ignoring Falco even though I feel his eyes boring into me. "Now please excuse me, there is someone I promised to talk to," I finish, gesturing blindly to the vast crowd on the other side of the room and then heading in that direction as calmly as I can make myself go.

* * *

I don't know why I feel angry at Falco for not mentioning Astoria, because I know I have no right to feel that way. I know that but it still somehow doesn't change the rage and hurt I have inside me. I feel betrayed despite the fact there is nothing between us. I trusted him like I have trusted no man other than my brother, who doesn't count anyway because that's obviously totally different. I thought that behind the teasing and flirtatious words, there was actually a genuine mutual respect and friendship, but it seems I was wrong.

It doesn't matter, I tell myself. All that matters is that I win the Games. I don't need someone like Falco to rescue me as I am more than capable of rescuing myself. The fact that part of me wanted him to rescue me is beside the point.

* * *

"We should return to the Training Centre now, Cashmere," says the person who has occupied my thoughts for most of the evening, smiling at the latest in a long line of his friends and acquaintances who I have spent the last four hours trying to charm into sponsoring me.

"It was lovely to meet you," I say to the man just before he walks away, which is certainly not the first lie I have told tonight and will most likely not be the last. "Let's go," I continue, all of the sweetness gone from my voice as I turn to Falco.

"Cashmere…"

I say nothing, conscious of the people surrounding us who are watching our every move.

"The car is outside," he says, sounding ever so slightly defeated. I have a feeling it won't last.

I sweep out of the vast room and he follows me. I don't stop until I'm back at the car, and when I get in, I gaze out of the window at the enormous mansion I have just left, telling myself I am trying to memorise everything I have seen so I can tell Gloss, but mostly only doing it so I don't have to look at Falco.

"I don't love her, Cashmere. I never have."

"Why should I care? It's nothing to me."

He turns to look at me. I can feel the strength of his gaze even though I focus resolutely on the streets of the Capitol which whiz by outside the window.

"It suited my family to have me marry Astoria," he says, sounding almost like he is talking to himself rather than to me.

"You expect me to believe your father dragged you kicking and screaming to the ceremony?" I ask cuttingly, unable to avoid thinking how that is probably what would have eventually happened to me if I hadn't come here. "Don't make me laugh."

"I was younger than you are now when I married her. I didn't think it mattered that I didn't love her when it made everyone I had ever loved happy."

"Poor Falco," I taunt, still angrier than I have been in a long time. "Oh how you have suffered. Is that why you took the escort's job? You got fed up here and thought District One might afford you some variety?"

"If that is truly what you think of me then there's no point us having this conversation," he replies. "I have been faithful to that shallow excuse for a person who I have to call my wife since the day I married her, and I decided a long time ago that I would never disgrace her family or my own by being otherwise. Then I heard you shouting at that Peacekeeper back in District One and nothing seemed as straightforward after that."

"You heard that?"

He nods and smiles wryly. "I don't care what you think of me, Cashmere. You're going to win the Games and go back to your brother if it's the last thing I do."

I return his smile, his honesty dampening my anger if not my confusion. "I actually think it's rather up to me what happens in the arena."

"I can't fight for you, I know that, but if you need anything, anything at all, then ask and I will send it."

"I might have won a few sponsors tonight but you aren't going to have a bottomless pit of money, Falco. And don't tell me you'll buy it yourself because I know you're not allowed to."

"Ways and means, Butterfly," he says, his familiar smirk suddenly returning. "Besides, I wouldn't worry about sponsors if I were you. I've seen the amount of money appearing in the District One account already and I don't think it's for Sheen."

The car draws to a halt and the driver opens the door for us. When Falco holds his arm out to me, I take it without hesitation. Three days before being thrown into the Hunger Games arena isn't the time to argue with one of the few people with the power to help me, and besides, I know I should but I can't seem to feel anger towards him. I could see the truth of his words in his eyes, and if I hadn't come here then what happened to him would have happened to me. I can't judge him for that.

"I don't know what you really think of me, Falco. Maybe you think I'm a silly little child who knows nothing, but I'm not and I know what it's like," I whisper as we walk into the Training Centre. "To be controlled by your family, I mean." He turns to look at me, bringing us both to a standstill in the entrance hall. I speak before he can, wanting to finish what I was saying. "That's the answer to the first question you ever asked me, partly anyway. I volunteered for the Games because risking my life in the arena is preferable to being forced to marry a cold-hearted, lecherous man who only wants me as a trophy simply to improve my father's status and make him just that little bit richer."

"Is that true?"

I didn't bother to try to keep the bitterness from my voice and I can tell that he believes me even though he asks the question.

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving mine, but when he opens his mouth to speak, I mirror his gesture and shake my head in return.

"Don't," I tell him. "Don't make promises you can't keep. Go back to the party. I can find my way from here."

"I won't go back there tonight. I don't go there at all unless I have to."

"You are free, you can go wherever you like," I tell him, alternating rapidly between trying to block out the image I suddenly have in my mind of him holding that awful woman in his arms and mentally telling myself to stop being so pathetic. I've known him for four days. There is nothing between us and now, for more than one reason, there never can be.

"Can we at least be friends?"

"I don't know. Can we?" I reply tiredly. Given the basis for our relationship so far, I don't know that we can.

"Yes," he tells me firmly, and when I step into one of the Training Centre lifts, he follows me and I say nothing. When we get upstairs, he drags two of the armchairs from the television room into the dining room, pushes me down onto one and then sits on the other.

"You don't have to speak," he says, "just listen."

I nod and he smiles faintly in response before proceeding to tell me about his life growing up here, about his family and their place in a society that in many ways doesn't sound so very different to that of District One, only on a much grander scale. He tells me about his work, telling me stories about his fellow ministers which I know I would be executed just for knowing about if I ever repeated them. I find I could listen to his voice and his tales of this world my brother and sister and I grew up fantasising about for the rest of the night, and I am sorry when he finally falls silent.

"Why are you telling me all this?" I ask him quietly. "How do you know I won't tell someone else?"

"I trust you. And I want you to trust me."

I can't help thinking how much that sounds like total honesty for probably the first time. His words aren't implying anything or hinting at something he won't say, this is the real person he is, and because of that more than anything else, Astoria suddenly seems to matter less than she did before.

"I do trust you," I reply, scared at the realisation that what I say is true. I have never trusted anyone apart from Gloss and Sapphire before, so it feels very strange. "I don't know why, but I do."

He smiles but says nothing, and we sit in a silence which is considerably more comfortable and relaxed than the atmosphere during our car journey back here, until at exactly the same time, we both hear footsteps approaching.

Sheen has walked into the room and is halfway towards the drinks machine before he sees us, the moonlight reflecting off his blond hair and the pale skin of his bare chest. When he visibly startles in response to our presence, I quickly sit forward in my chair, still feeling like I've been caught doing something I shouldn't. It's irrational and annoying but I have barely been able to shake that feeling from the second Falco told me we were leaving the Training Centre. Unsurprisingly, when I turn slightly to face him, my partner in crime and the undoubted instigator of this evening's events is looking as completely unfazed as ever, not even glancing in Sheen's direction but staring at me with an amused expression on his face.

"What are you doing still up?" asks my district partner suspiciously, almost as if he suspects me of plotting an arena strategy without him or our mentors. I smirk to myself, thinking that I don't see why he would be surprised if I was.

"There isn't a bedtime here, Sheen. You're not at home with your mummy and daddy now," I reply mockingly but without being as malicious as I could be. Whatever I think of him, I am finding that I have a problem with truly despising people who most likely have less than a week to live.

"Why are you dressed up like that?" he continues, taking in my fine evening dress, his eyes lingering on my body for just long enough to make me glare up at him until he looks away.

"Cashmere wanted to see the Capitol and the Capitol wanted to see her," answers Falco flatly before I can respond.

"You've been out?" Sheen replies incredulously, not in any way attempting to conceal his shock. "You left the Training Centre?"

I nod. "I went to a party. I was with Falco, so there's no official rule that says I can't."

"Tributes aren't allowed to find their own sponsors. That gives you an unfair advantage," he retorts immediately, his face suddenly hardening for an instant in a way that makes him look like a completely different person to the arrogant, immature boy I almost know. Then his familiar pout returns so quickly that I almost forget his demeanour had changed at all. "That's not fair," he continues.

"There's only one real rule in the Hunger Games, Sheen, and I haven't broken it."

He scowls at me without speaking. I can tell he doesn't have an answer, that he knows I'm technically right even if our Capitol escort and I have been pushing our luck by doing what we did tonight.

"Don't make an issue of this," says Falco. "If you earn them then you won't be without sponsors either. You have the same opportunities as Cashmere."

"I think she's better at earning them than I am," snipes Sheen waspishly in return, his voice dripping with implied meaning in a way I previously didn't believe him capable of.

I stare at the door long after he has vanished back down the corridor, knowing that if someone had said that to me back home then that person would have ended up suffering for it, at Gloss's hand if not at mine, but for some reason the anger I would usually feel isn't there. Sheen is fighting for his life just like I am. I can't say I blame him for his reaction.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: If you've been reading this from the start and think this chapter seems too far ahead, I posted Chapter 6 just before the website went strange last week so try going back one as you may have missed it ;)**

Chapter Seven

We sit together again in training, those from the three Career districts. It is expected of us, both by our mentors and the other tributes, and most likely by the Gamemakers too. Therefore there is no real reason for us to change now, even if it is lunchtime on the third day of training and only a matter of a very short time before we are assessed and given the scores that could decide whether we are sponsored or not.

"Did you have fun partying in the Capitol then, District One?" asks Dahlia scornfully. I can tell from the expression on Sheen's face that he was the one who told her, and I narrow my eyes at him, silently promising I will pay him back later. "I hope you did," continues the girl from Two. "I'm not so cruel that I would begrudge you the enjoyment of what little time you have left."

I glare at her briefly before fixing a smile on my face, my eyes never leaving hers. "That was a lot of big words for you, Dahlia. Did you ask Corvinus to explain them to you before you came here today so you knew you would be able to get them in exactly the right order?" She snarls at me and out of the corner of my eye I see her district partner smirk. "I had a very good time, thank you," I continue with a sigh, not seeing the point in denying I had left the Training Centre. "It was nice to see for the first time the sights I'm sure I'll become very familiar with."

"I wouldn't be too confident," she retorts immediately, both her voice and her temper rising rapidly.

"Ladies, please," interrupts Sheen smoothly. "There's no need to fight and argue. Not yet anyway."

"I'm not fighting," I say with a sarcastic smile in my enemy's direction. "It's not my fault she has no manners."

Dahlia jumps to her feet and every tribute in the room turns to look at us. The rattling sound her glass makes when it falls over and rolls across the table is shockingly loud in the silence.

"And she proves my point yet again," I taunt, sounding more like Sapphire than like myself. My sister always spoke her mind. Compared to her, I always used to be positively subtle.

"You'll pay, District One. When we get in the arena you'll pay, very slowly and painfully until you beg me to make it stop."

I stare across at her, realising that she isn't joking or merely talking for effect this time.

"I beg of nobody, District Two. Not ever," I tell her steadily, determined not to back down and to show no fear.

"Not even Falco?" asks Sheen snidely before Dahlia can speak again, and I see Corvinus look up sharply at his words.

"Shut it," I snap, glaring at my district partner, who clearly isn't even close to forgiving me for abandoning our mentors and accepting our Capitol escort's help in my attempt to orchestrate my own victory. However he at least has the sense to obey and says nothing further.

"Do you think it's time for them to start now?" asks Marcia, speaking for the first time today as she twists her hands nervously in her lap.

"Don't tell me you're scared?" snarls Dahlia. "Pathetic," she spits.

"You mentioned fear, Dahlia, not me. I just asked a question."

I look up at her and it feels like I'm seeing her for the first time. I had dismissed her as being too weak to be a serious competitor as quickly as I decided I despised her because of her mentor, but there is something in the fierceness behind that retort that tells me she hasn't given up yet.

"Look," I interrupt, gesturing to the Avox who has just emerged through the double doors that lead back to the gymnasium and the waiting Gamemakers. The man props one of the doors open by standing in front of it and another assistant enters the dining room.

"Sheen Rochester, District One!"

My district partner rises almost unsteadily to his feet and walks slowly from the room. Everyone only seems to breathe again when the door clicks shut behind him. What should I do? Should I go for a high score or let them underestimate me? Every time I think I have made up my mind I find myself changing it a minute later. I don't know what to do. Sapphire would have known. She always knew and she didn't hide from anybody. I had been so proud when her ten had flashed up on the screen underneath her photograph.

"Cashmere de Montfort, District One!"

That was quick. It seems like only seconds have passed since they called Sheen. I stand up as slowly as he did, crossing the room towards the gymnasium and only turning back to glare at Corvinus when he gives me a light shove in the direction of the doors. He smirks back and then I know. He is my best ally and he isn't the type to protect someone weaker. He will work with me rather than for me and if I'm not strong enough then he will let me fall. I have no choice now. I will do what Sapphire did. I will make sure the Capitol knows I can fight as well as smile prettily for the cameras. There's no point trying to hide because the others have already seen me fight in training anyway.

I take a deep breath just before the assistant steps back to allow me into the gymnasium. It looks even bigger now that I am the only one who is standing in the vast space, gazing silently up at the Gamemakers. They don't speak either, but most of them are studying me as intently as I am studying them. The one sat on Seneca Crane's right side is frantically taking notes, but I have no idea what they could possibly be about. I haven't done anything yet.

"You can begin now," says a stern-faced woman from the front row of the stands.

I smile at her in acknowledgement but she doesn't smile back. For some completely irrational reason, I find myself wondering if that is because she doesn't like me or simply because she has had that much cosmetic surgery that her facial muscles no longer move. Then I abruptly shake my head to clear my thoughts, moving swiftly towards the now familiar table of swords.

'Focus, Cashmere, you have to focus,' I tell myself under my breath as I select the long, thin blade I have come to think of as my own. I need to pretend the Gamemakers aren't there, which is most likely the best piece of advice Lace has ever given me, or at least given Sheen whilst I was in earshot. Pausing briefly to touch my hand to Sapphire's pendant, I then raise the sword and step forward to meet the trainer who appears to challenge me.

Following Sapphire's philosophy that attack is the best form of defence, I temporarily forget about the Gamemakers, the other tributes and the sponsors, thinking solely of my sword and that of the trainer. The ringing sound of metal striking metal sounds across the gymnasium as I fight like I have rarely fought before.

When another trainer steps forward and raises her sword to meet mine, I fight both of them for as long as I have the strength, pushing back the memories it makes me recall of how my sister had made Gloss and I attack her together, insisting that it would make her stronger if we did. I can't think of Sapphire and Gloss now, I can't let myself get distracted.

Then, as quickly as they arrived, the trainers back away, leaving me standing there once more, slightly breathless and gazing up at the Gamemakers. They are still watching me, waiting to see what I will do next, and it is then I realise I don't really know what to do next. I have very little knowledge of the survival skills which many of the tributes from the lower districts believe will save them, I can't fight with knives anywhere near well enough to impress my assessors, and I can barely lift the axes that lie on their table only a short distance away. Then my eyes fall upon the row of spears on the other side of the room and I abruptly decide that is my best and only option.

It had begun as a joke on the second day of training, a joke which started when it quickly became apparent that Corvinus has the ability to throw a spear with a level of deadly accuracy that made every tribute in the room stop to stare, myself included. I had been with him at the time and he had dared me to try, mocking me and saying I wouldn't do it because I couldn't when I tried to refuse. After that, what Gloss calls my stubborn and foolish pride kicked in and the next thing I knew I was holding a metal-tipped wooden spear, facing the line of straw filled dummies that serve as targets.

I still don't know how I did it, but when that spear left my hand, it flew across the room and straight through what would be the heart of the middle target with a loud thud that echoed loudly around me. Everyone had stared at me in awe then, but I can honestly say that none of them, not even Corvinus, who had looked at me with a new respect in his eyes that wasn't completely justified, could possibly have been more shocked than I. Not that I would have admitted that to anyone but myself for all the money in the world.

I somersault, cartwheel and back-flip across the gymnasium in a way I haven't done since I was a little girl, until I reach the spear throwing station and select the nearest weapon, hoping desperately that the luck I had with me the first time will have stayed with me for the second.

I draw my arm back and focus on the target. The sound of one of the Gamemakers coughing drifts down from the stands and then everything is silent again. When I release the spear, I know before it lands that I haven't repeated my previous fluke, but it still sinks into the front of the middle dummy's right shoulder and I nod in satisfaction and relief. Not an instant death, maybe, but it would stop the person in their tracks at the very least. If I was lucky enough for my target to be Dahlia, as I had been imagining when I threw, then I can say for certain that she wouldn't be throwing her knives with her usual deadly accuracy as a result.

Deciding that there is nothing more I can do and hoping it will be enough, I cross back over to the stands, making sure that I perform one last back-flip to take out one of the knife targets as I go, in what I hope the Gamemakers will recognise as the symbolic gesture I intended it to be. I come to a halt before them and incline my head slightly. None of them speak but the man who sits on Seneca Crane's left returns my gesture and an assistant appears from nowhere to guide me to the lifts. So that's why Sheen didn't come back to the dining room.

I see nobody as I travel between the gymnasium and our level of the Training Centre, and I don't know if I am pleased about that or not. Part of me doesn't want to be on my own but at the same time I know that the only person I really want to talk to isn't here but back in District One. Thinking of my brother makes me remember his final words to me, and I wish that I couldn't hear his voice in my head, repeating them back over and over again. He had told me to make myself appear weak and I went and did the opposite. As much as I know inside that it was the right thing to do, I can't help imagining what he will think when he sees the training scores as they are revealed on the broadcast later this afternoon. Will he think I didn't listen to him? Will he think I don't care what he says? Will he think I feel nothing for him? I don't know the answer to that, all I know is that I love him more than I could ever say and that I would give virtually anything for the chance to speak to him for one last time before the Games really begin.

* * *

When I returned to our quarters, I instinctively headed to the dining room, getting myself a drink and curling up on one of the many chairs with nothing to do but wait. It will take hours for the rest of the tributes to face the Gamemakers and many more hours for them to decide what scores we will be given, and I have nothing to do but sit here alone and in silence.

I am still sitting in the same chair in the dining room some hours later, holding the same and now cold mug of chocolate on my lap, staring at the same red and gold wallpapered wall. There is a tiny spot in the very corner by the ceiling where the paper is peeling off and coming away from the wall, and I can't stop my eyes from returning to it, perhaps because it reminds me that this place is real and has it's imperfections like anywhere else. My mind drifts and I wonder if the other rooms have such flaws. I hope it isn't just here, because that might make it symbolic, and with the arena so close, I suddenly find that I don't need such coincidences.

I push myself forwards, swinging my legs around as I go to stand, realising that if I am thinking about the potentially disastrous symbolism of an old piece of wallpaper then I really need to move and find something to occupy my mind. Laughing to myself, I cross the room to the door, only to jump back as it quickly opens towards me.

"How did it go?" asks Falco, smiling slightly and backing me into the room once more, as careful not to touch me as ever since my meeting with Astoria.

"I'm surprised you don't already know," I reply.

"There are some things they won't even tell me," he says, laughing softly. "Well?"

"It was fine. I did what I could, but I think we both know where I stand. Corvinus and Dahlia will score higher."

"Maybe they will, maybe they won't. We'll have to wait and see. There isn't long to wait now, all of the tributes have left the gym."

"Don't pretend ignorance, Falco. It doesn't suit you. You know more about the other districts than I ever will. That means you know Dahlia doesn't spend her time arranging flowers, reading books and learning about the glory of Panem."

"Your strategy is about more than your training score. I won't let you down."

"It isn't about you," I tell him tiredly as I return to my chair and curl up in the same position I was in before. "The arena is unpredictable. Sometimes things happen that shouldn't."

He pulls another chair over and sits down. He is close enough to reach out to me but he doesn't, he just shakes his head. "What happened, Cashmere? Why are you really here? Please tell me, I think you owe me that much."

I owe him? I owe him nothing, I never have. But there is something about the look in his eyes, something about the way he says 'please'. I get the impression it's not a word which is commonly found in his vocabulary, at least not when used in the sincere way he did then.

"When I was a little girl, my sister and brother and I made a pact with each other. You know a little about what would have been my fate if I hadn't volunteered to come here, so you'll understand why we did it. We swore to train for the Games and to win so we could be free, free of our family and their intentions for us. Then Finnick Odair murdered my sister last year. I am keeping up my side of the bargain. For her, for me and for my brother."

"The last time a de Montfort became a tribute in the Hunger Games was over forty years ago, Butterfly," he says softly, passing me a tissue so I can wipe away the tears I didn't know I was crying. "Last year's District One tribute girl's name was-"

"Beaufort," I finish. "Sapphire Beaufort. She was my foster-sister, raised with me when my mother's best friend died, my sister in every way but by blood."

"And you still followed her? Why? If she loved you as you say then she wouldn't have wanted you to risk your life."

"Yes, she would," I retort immediately. "There are worse things than death and Sapphire understood that as well as I do. And if I'm here and I win then my brother won't have to compete. By saving myself, I'm saving him, so I will never regret my choice, whatever happens to me in the arena."

"Nothing is going to happen to you in the arena."

"I'm not a fool, Falco, so don't talk to me like I am. Kill or be killed, remember? Even if I win then I will never be the same again."

I don't know how I expected him to react to my words but I didn't expect him to smile. "You're not a fool, are you? You knew exactly what you were doing on Reaping Day."

"I even got myself some flat shoes so I could run as fast as possible to the stage," I say, smiling back, surprised by how much better I feel now that I have talked to him and there is finally someone here who I don't have to hide from.

He shifts slightly in his chair so he can lean across to take my hand in his. I stare down at our joined hands, his honey-coloured skin a complete contrast to my almost white pallor. After a while he turns my wrist over and trails his finger across my butterfly tattoo.

"Did Sapphire have one of these too? Is that why you tell me not to call you Butterfly?"

I shake my head. "No, she had a dragonfly instead. But she did call me Butterfly. It felt strange to be called that again, it made me remember."

"I didn't know."

"Why would you?" I tell him quietly, before abruptly making my voice a lot lighter. "Anyway, I've sort of got used to it now. I've realised you're far too stubborn to change simply because I ask you to."

He laughs at my teasing. "That's probably true, in some things anyway."

Neither of us speak for several minutes then. I stare down at my wrist, the grief I feel for Sapphire rising up again until I once more start to believe it will never fade. Falco must sense the direction of my thoughts because he interrupts by talking of the one person in the world of whom the thought of is guaranteed to lift my mood.

"Your brother must be very special, to earn such unwavering loyalty and sacrifice."

"He is," I reply instantly. "And since Sapphire died, he has been all I have left. If I win the Games, nobody else in District One will have any hold over us."

"_When_ you win the Games," he corrects. "When you win the Games we will get through whatever happens together. Then perhaps you can introduce me to your famous brother."

"And where does Astoria fit into this little plan?" I ask him softly, not able to stop myself from thinking of her even though everything but the rational, sensible part of my brain is fighting to make me forget her existence completely.

"She doesn't," he replies, frowning slightly. "I keep her in dresses, manicures and parties and she stays out of my way. She has her side of the house and I have mine. All she is to me is a drain on my finances who gives me nothing but grief in return. That's how it has been since long before I met you."

I don't know what to say. Combined with the not-so-minor matter of the Games, this is all too much for me to deal with, so this time it is me who shakes my head at him, squeezing his hand before letting go. "Don't think of me. Astoria or no Astoria, there's no point if my cannon fires."

He abruptly stands up and walks to the other side of the room, turning to face the drinks machine so he doesn't have to look at me. When he moves two mugs underneath the strange Capitol contraption, he slams them down with so much force that the wooden stand shudders in protest. As they fill up, he pulls his sleeve up and looks at his watch.

"Only half an hour to go before they broadcast the training scores."

I nod, taking the mug he offers to me silently before settling back into my chair to wait. He doesn't speak either but he sits back down too, leaning towards me just as I do towards him. We are still sitting silently in the same place when I hear Lace calling my name at the top of her voice, shouting for me to be in the television room in one minute or she will be coming to fetch me.

* * *

I wait for almost a minute before I walk the short distance into the other room, knowing it's childish to deliberately antagonise Lace but still unable to resist the temptation. Falco follows close behind and allows me to enter the room first, where I find Sheen and Topaz seated in armchairs before the giant television and Lace pacing the room looking very much like she is plotting to commit a murder, most likely mine.

"Where have you been?" she snaps immediately, gesturing imperiously at one of the armchairs.

"The dining room," I answer truthfully, deliberately sitting on the other one.

She looks suspiciously from me to Falco and back again so I stare evenly back at her, daring her to suggest what she is clearly thinking. She looks back to Falco once more, and whatever she sees in his eyes convinces her to remain silent.

"We'll just put the television on, shall we?" interrupts Topaz, hastily carrying out his suggestion before anyone can say anything else, obviously hating the tension in the room. Not for the first time, I wonder if he was always so timid or if it was the Games that changed him. I find it hard to believe it could be the former because I don't see how he could have survived the arena if it was.

The same loud and multicoloured presenter who hosted the reaping review appears briefly on the screen, announcing the programme before quickly rushing on to discuss the training scores to a background of footage from the Opening Ceremony. A subject that seems very dear to his heart is the betting, and he wastes no time in confirming that I am the favourite, closely followed by Corvinus and then by Dahlia. I shudder at the thought even though I know it's only a sign that my plan to win the support of the Capitol is working.

Being the favourite in the betting makes you an automatic target for the rest, and I dread to think about the sadistic plans which are undoubtedly running through Dahlia's head as she watches from just a short distance and the thickness of the ceiling away. It's unlikely that I have half the imagination she does when it comes to such things, but I can say with almost absolute certainty that everything she is thinking leads to my death.

"Favourite to win, Cashmere," says Topaz, struggling to be heard over the noise of the presenter, who is currently interviewing the head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane. "That's got to be a good sign."

"Has it?" I reply ominously, surprised by just how much doubt is in my voice. I wish Lace and Sheen weren't here to hear it.

"Remember what will save you," says Falco in a low voice from his position behind my chair. "You can't have it both ways."

Any reply I might have had is swiftly forgotten when Sheen's photograph appears on the screen. I glance across at him and can't help noticing the nervous expression on his face. He hugs a cushion tightly to his chest as if he wants to hide behind it but can't quite bring himself to look away. Then the number eight flashes up and he breathes a very visible sigh of relief.

"Well done, Sheen," says Topaz, but both Lace and Falco remain silent.

My district partner looks at me and I shrug my shoulders before looking back at the television. We have barely spoken since the night I went to Falco's party and I am in no rush to alter that. In any situation other than this one, we wouldn't be friends or even speak to each other, and as far as I'm concerned, the Hunger Games is more reason than any other to keep things as they are.

Then I find myself gazing into my own eyes, and it is not until a nine flashes under my picture that I release the breath I didn't know I was holding. One less than Sapphire, and as good as I could have hoped for. Falco reaches down to squeeze my shoulder, not needing to speak, and I tilt my head back to look at him before quickly returning to my previous position when Lace loudly clears her throat.

"Are you surprised, Lace? Are you disappointed that I didn't live down to your expectations?"

She scowls at me but doesn't speak, so I focus once more on the screen, suddenly much more eager to see the scores my rivals get now that I am no longer waiting for my own. A ten appears under Corvinus's photograph and I'm not at all surprised. When it comes down to only fighting and nothing else, he is better than me, it's as simple as that. I knew he would score higher. It's only when Dahlia's eleven appears that I feel my heart sink.

"I knew it," I whisper under my breath. "I knew she was holding out in training."

"What do you mean?" asks Falco, looking at both myself and Sheen for an explanation.

"She fought and she was good. Positively scary with the knives, but other than that she didn't do more than Corvinus did. I told you she fought another tribute before the trainers got there and then let him pull her away like she had no choice but to let him."

"Why would she go to all that trouble only to then reveal the truth before she gets into the arena," says Falco. "You either credit her with too much intelligence or too little, Cashmere."

"You didn't go near the knives either," adds Sheen. "I did. I was watching her, and she was a bit more than just scary. She doesn't need a carefully planned strategy when she can kill from a distance like that."

I glare across at him, refusing to outwardly admit that he's right, which I know he is. He smirks back at me, smiling a fake smile I haven't seen on his face before. What was he doing watching Dahlia anyway? He doesn't seem the observant type to me and I find it very hard to believe it could be for her aesthetic value. And if he told her about how I left the Training Centre then he must have been having a conversation with her.

Then it suddenly becomes so clear that I wonder why I didn't see it before. He thinks he's forming an alliance with her, an alliance over and above the usual generic Career Alliance that has happened in nearly every Games for decades. The fool, I think to myself. If he can't see that she will ally with nobody but herself then he deserves everything he gets.

My newfound understanding of what I see as my district partner's stupid plan which is never going to work makes it suddenly very easy to quickly return his sarcastic smile before refocusing on the screen in time to see the girl from District Three score a two. Nobody in the room speaks as the presenter's endless stream of gossip and speculation streams out of the television. My plan had been to try and memorise everyone's scores and match the reaping day photographs that are shown on screen to the tributes I have seen in training, however it all passes in such a blur that only a few stick in my mind.

Octavian scores seven, which is low for a trained tribute but not entirely unexpected. Then his district partner matches my score and I smile grimly. That is no great surprise either. After that I don't really notice anyone else until District Seven, who score seven and eight. I will have to watch for them in the arena because I can't see either of them being reluctant to attack if doing so is the only thing that enables them to get home, especially her. In three entire days of training where we have been held captive in the same room for much of the time, the only time I have heard her talk was in the dining room when she was telling her district partner about her family.

"Is that her?" asks Falco just as Davena's photograph fades.

"Yes," I reply. I had been telling him about the girl who had stood up to Dahlia on that first morning of training and I know he's referring to that.

"District Seven seem to be doing well this year," he says. "And the rumours must be getting out somehow because she's fourth in the betting."

"As long as I stay first," I retort.

"You will," he says, smiling when he sees the look of satisfaction which is my response to his words. "It will be between you and Dahlia now the scores are out."

"I'll have to make sure the interview's good then. Have you spoken to Felix?" I ask, before suddenly realising that we are talking like Lace, Topaz and Sheen aren't even in the room.

My first mental response to that thought is to ask myself why I should care. Lace has certainly thrown her lot in with Sheen right from reaping day and I can't see Topaz helping me to achieve anything but my own execution at the bloodbath. Even if I know deep inside that there is more to my decision to rely on Falco for support than a basic survival instinct, doing so really is my best option.

"No," replies the subject of my thoughts, "not since the Opening Ceremony. He said he'd come and see you tomorrow though."

I am about to reply when Topaz's rapid intake of breath stops me. I turn in his direction to see him staring at the screen, and when I do the same, I see the previously non-descript girl from District Nine whose name I don't even know. I also see the number seven flashing up beneath her.

"What did she do in training?" snaps Lace instantly, making it clear she is as shocked as I am.

"Nothing," I tell her when it quickly becomes apparent that Sheen isn't going to respond. "She hovered around the survival stations and that's it."

"Maybe she can kill people with camouflage paint," adds Sheen, laughing at his own suggestion.

"Stop being facetious," Falco tells him immediately, his silkily dangerous tone of voice returning.

"You might have to explain that one in simpler terms so he understands what you said," I add, unable to resist even though I know it's childish.

Falco smiles almost imperceptibly at me in subtle agreement before moving to sit on the last remaining vacant armchair. I preferred it when he was standing behind me.

"Just make sure you watch her. In the interview as well. She might give something away without meaning to."

I nod, trying to recall anything I might have known about District Nine and not coming up with much. The rest of the programme runs on in the background, but no tribute scores higher than a five so I pay them little attention.

"Time for bed then," says Topaz as soon as the closing credits start. "We'll have to be up early to prepare for the interviews."

"I can't wait," I reply sarcastically, my tiredness making me forget myself and that I had promised not to let my feelings show in front of my mentors.

Lace hisses at me so I glare at her. I can see Falco is trying not to laugh, though that is probably more because of the ridiculousness of this situation than for any other reason. Topaz seems determined to do what he usually does and pretend that what's going on around him isn't happening, so he continues as if I had remained silent.

"Do you want to be trained together or separately?"

"Separately," say Sheen and I at exactly the same time as soon as he has finished his sentence.

None of them look surprised, but I see them exchange glances.

"Very well," continues Topaz. "We'll start in the morning."

He then manages to get up, announce he's going to bed and leave the room without meeting anyone's gaze even once. That leaves Lace, Sheen, Falco and I all sitting in silence. The temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees as soon as the door closes behind him.

"Until tomorrow then," says Falco eventually, rising to his feet and looking directly at Lace.

If anything he looks mildly amused by the atmosphere in the room, and when he turns to me, raising his eyebrows questioningly and gesturing to the door, I can tell he's treating this like a big game. I laugh to myself, relieved that he's taking my journey to the arena a little more seriously.

"Cashmere?"

Lace looks so scandalised that I can't resist playing along. I rise to my feet and slowly cross the room to walk out into the corridor as Falco holds the door open for me. Before it closes behind him, I can hear Lace and Sheen speaking to each other in low, hushed voices.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist," says Falco as we walk towards the main door.

"Try," I reply flatly, annoyingly unable to hide my smile.

"I do," he says, a lot more serious this time and clearly no longer talking about antagonising Lace.

I sigh deeply and he makes no move to leave even though we have reached the door.

"She's on his side, you know. They're working together."

"Let them," he says. "She can't save him any more than he can save himself. And leave it with me. Remember what I told you about the television room."

As the meaning of his words hit me, I jerk my head up so my eyes meet his. "Falco, that must be illegal," I hiss under my breath.

"Only if anyone finds out."

"They will. _They _see everything. I don't want you risking your life for me. It doesn't matter what they're planning. I'll find out for myself soon enough. I mean it. Don't even think about trying to listen to that camera footage," I tell him fiercely, standing on my tiptoes so I can whisper into his ear.

"If it helps you then I'll do it," he replies quickly, leaning down and brushing my hair back so he can whisper to me in the same way.

"No!" I say firmly. "Promise me you won't."

He sighs. "OK, OK, I promise." He reaches out to push my hair back from my face once more. "I have to go, but I'll be back tomorrow. We have a whole day to terrorise Lace," he finishes jokingly.

"Why do you think she hates me so much? It's all your fault."

He laughs. "Goodnight, Butterfly."

I stand in the corridor for several minutes after he has gone, and only when I hear the sound of the television room door closing do I return to find it as empty as I had hoped. At least two hours pass before I feel ready to go to bed.

**If you've read this far then let me know what you think. Please...**


	8. Chapter 8

**I can't believe I've got as far with this one as I have - this chapter and the next one and then I'll be writing the arena...**

Chapter Eight

After a whole morning of listening to Lace's insults and Topaz's stubborn refusal to hear anyone but himself, by the time I am released from the television room and sent across the hall to the dining room, I am thoroughly fed up. I flop down onto the sofa and disappointedly look around the room, quickly deciding they have obviously forgotten that we might need to eat and drink at some point today. Then the door opens and Falco quickly walks in before just as quickly closing it behind him, a slightly furtive expression on his face.

"Take these but don't tell Lace," he says, holding out a plateful of food and a glass of juice. "She says it will do you good to go without. As you might have guessed, that's yet another matter we disagree about."

"Like you care what she'd say even if she knew," I reply sullenly, but then I smile widely and quickly take the plate and glass. It's surprising how hungry spending the entire morning being insulted and ignored can make a girl feel.

"I have to pretend almost as much as you," he answers with a haughtiness that sounds only partly in jest.

"Why?"

"Because that's the way things have to be done," he says, sounding even more serious this time.

I suppose that is what today has been about really; maintaining the pretence and following Hunger Games protocol. All four of us know there are divided loyalties in the District One team this year even if we choose not to admit it openly. Falco is Capitol though. He can do what he likes so I don't know why he has to do the same.

I nod but remain unconvinced, and we sit without talking until I have finished eating. When I finish, he takes the plate from me and hides it in a cupboard. I can tell he's doing it to make me laugh rather than because he's worried about what my mentor would say.

"So," I say with a tired sigh. "I've endured Lace telling me in considerably more colourful words that I'm far too beautiful to possibly have the intelligence to win the Hunger Games and I've endured Topaz instructing me that the only way I can win is if I divide my attentions between Sheen and Corvinus and hope one of them gets so jealous that they fight and kill each other. I doubt you'll need me to explain his meaning there, so you also won't need me to say that I can't take much more today. What are you going to teach me that I don't already know?"

He says nothing and when I look over at him, I see the now familiar arrogant smirk has returned. I roll my eyes and laugh at myself, realising I probably asked for that one.

"I didn't mean it like that. Falco, I'm being serious. There isn't much time left."

"So I am," he replies flatly.

Despite my decision to say nothing more on the subject, I can't stop myself.

"Don't let Astoria hear you say that. Or has she heard it before? Is this normal for you?"

"Believe what you like, you'll see the truth one day. I won't get bored of you, Cashmere. I won't change my mind."

There is no hint of a lie in his words or his eyes, and even though only last night I promised myself that I would think of nothing but the arena and getting out of it alive, I want to look away in disbelief but I can't. I had been going to think of a snappy retort but the words die on my lips.

"You won't get the chance if you don't tell me what to say in this interview."

"You know what you have to say, Butterfly. You've always known. You don't need me to tell you. And besides, they love you already. You're still the favourite in the betting. Even after the training scores most of them still prefer you."

"That'll please District Two," I reply with a grim smile, thinking about Dahlia and her eleven.

"District Two won't care. Betting and sponsors isn't how they play the game."

"I suppose not," I reply, and at that moment there is a soft knock at the door.

Falco looks to me rather than either inviting the visitor in or sending them away. I look questioningly at him, having expected him to speak first.

"It's your training day, Cashmere. It's your Hunger Games, you make the decisions."

"Come in," I call eventually, silencing the part of me that wanted to ask the person who they are first, mostly because I don't want anyone to think I'm afraid.

The door swings open to reveal Felix, who stands there in a dark-green suit, looking almost relieved that he hasn't been left out there any longer. He has one sleeve rolled up and the other down, and his hair is slightly windswept in a way that makes him look like he's come here in a hurry.

He crosses the room and gestures for me to move along the sofa before sitting down so we're all in a line, me sitting in the middle with my stylist on one side and my escort on the other. I don't quite know how to react so I push myself further down into the seat and lift my feet up to rest them on the table, making both of them laugh.

"Why don't you make yourself at home?" asks Falco, his voice lightly teasing.

I turn away from both of them, focusing on the wall straight ahead of me in an attempt to overcome my sudden attack of stupid and pointless embarrassment. I don't know why I'm reacting like this as I certainly never did before I came here. Maybe it's because at home I felt in control even if I wasn't in reality, whereas here I sometimes feel so very small and powerless. Not that it will be that way for long, I tell myself firmly. When I win the Games then I will be more in control than ever. I know that's the truth, but that doesn't mean I don't feel lost for words now, and it doesn't explain why it's such an effort to meet Felix's eyes.

Determined not to give in like a pathetic little girl, I turn to my stylist and meet his eyes steadily, knowing he has done nothing to make me feel like this, that it is simply because he is one of only four people alive who have seen me at my weakest, when all of my defences have quite literally been taken away from me.

"So you're here to help with the interview planning then?" I ask him, abruptly relaxing when he smiles back at me, all my embarrassment gone so quickly I barely remember it.

"If you think a simple stylist like me will be of use to you," he replies, struggling to hide his laughter.

"As my mentors seem to have abandoned me, I suppose you two will have to do," I tell him teasingly.

"It's their loss," says Falco quietly. "You don't need them now and when you're winning in the arena then you know they'll support you when the time comes."

I nod, just about believing his words even if I do find it all too easy to imagine Lace sending a weapon to my enemy instead of to me.

"So," I begin with a sigh. "Do you think I should go with the truth, lies or a bit of both?"

"Do what you're best at," replies Falco. "Half the truth."

I lash out with my arm instinctively, but he catches my wrist before I even touch him, smirking as he returns me to my original position.

"You're a fine one to talk about half the truth," I snap, still annoyed by his hypocritical words.

"I…" he starts, seemingly lost for words for the first time in my memory. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes, you did," I reply, my voice softer this time as I quickly find I don't have either the strength or the inclination to be angry. "But I think we're as good at half truths as each other."

He nods in agreement and I smile in return before turning to Felix and asking him the question I have been dying to ask him since the end of the Opening Ceremony.

"Can I see my interview dress?"

"Not yet. I'm not allowed to bring it in here until tomorrow and you're not allowed in to see it."

"Have you seen it?" I ask Falco.

He laughs and shakes his head. "I might be who I am, but not even I can break over sixty-five years of Hunger Games legislation and tradition."

"That reminds me," interrupts Felix. "Can you stand up for a second, please?"

"Why?" I reply, hesitantly doing what he says.

As soon as I am on my feet, he pulls a tape measure from his pocket and reaches towards me. I step back instinctively. I wouldn't have done if he had done it tomorrow, I would have been expecting it then, but when I'm not prepared my old instincts which tell me to not let anyone get too close kick in without me having to think.

"Please, Cashmere," he says almost soothingly. "I can't finish your dress otherwise."

I step forwards and he places one end of the tape measure on my shoulder, holding it in position with the tip of his finger before measuring the distance between that point and another just above my navel.

"If I ask then you won't tell me, will you?" I ask, my curiosity reappearing in full force.

"No. You'll have to wait until tomorrow. But I know it'll work. Trust me. I didn't let you down at the Opening Ceremony, did I?"

I smile at the memory of that night, of how the crowd had thrown rose petals at me and called my name more than that of any other tribute.

"No," I answer truthfully. "You didn't let me down. Now I have to keep my side of the bargain," I continue, looking from him to Falco as I stand in front of the sofa, for once looking down on them instead of the other way around.

"Do you like it here?" Falco asks me abruptly, reaching up to grasp my arm and pull me back onto the sofa. As soon as I land he lets go as if touching me burns him, and I can see Felix shaking his head out of the corner of my eye.

"Of course," I say cautiously. "I'd like it even more if the arena wasn't waiting for me, but yes, I do."

"I'm not trying to trick you. You can say what you like to me, you know that, but that's what Caesar will ask you so you need to be convincing. If the audience believe you love them and everything they love then they'll love you in return."

"I can be very convincing," I reply with a sly smile, but then my heart suddenly sinks and I go from comfortably warm to ice cold in less than a second. "But he'll ask me about home, won't he? The whole of Panem heard Gloss call my name at the reaping! Caesar's going to make me talk about him, isn't he? I can't do it, Falco! I can't! What if he knows about Sapphire? Nobody will sponsor me if I fall apart on the stage."

"Calm down," he tells me, squeezing my hand reassuringly.

I try to do as he says, I try to slow my breathing rate down and stop myself from shaking but all I can hear is Caesar Flickerman's famous voice in my head; 'Tell me about your brother, Cashmere. And I believe it's rumoured that you knew last year's female tribute from your district. Tell me about her.'

"I can't! I won't talk about it, I won't!"

"Cashmere, stop this," he says, abandoning his grip on my hand to wrap his arm around me and pull me against him. I cling to him until Caesar's voice fades and I can hear only Felix, repeating over and over again that it won't happen like I imagine. Falco says nothing but he doesn't let me go for a second.

Eventually I return to my normal self again and abruptly despise my weakness. How could I lose control in front of them like that? I am Cashmere de Montfort, I never lose control in front of anyone. Well, except for Gloss, and he doesn't count.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, pulling away from Falco so I can look at the two men who are trying to help me stay alive. "I don't know why I reacted like that."

"You don't have to apologise," replies Felix. "It's been an exhausting few days."

"Do you think I will have to talk about Gloss and Sapphire?"

"Caesar asks virtually every tribute about their home, you know that as well as I do, but there is no reason for him to mention Sapphire. You don't share a name and she didn't call you by name in her interview. I doubt your relationship is common knowledge."

"Be honest," says Felix. "You obviously love your brother very much so tell them that. They will love you all the more for it and I think you want…Gloss, was it?" I nod quickly in response when I remember that he didn't know. "I think you want Gloss to hear it too."

"Have you heard anything about the others?" asks Falco of Felix, temporarily changing the subject and drawing the focus away from me, much to my relief. "I know how you stylists gossip," he continues, teasing his friend as mercilessly as ever.

"Not a lot. District Two aren't going to change and I think the rest are going to have to try and make the best of what they have. Your guesses are as good as mine. District Nine are being unusually quiet though."

"They're up to something," I say quickly. "She got a seven in training but I can't even guess why."

"Doesn't mean she'll stand up in the arena," replies Falco.

"How do you know I will?" I ask with mock pessimism.

"Because you want to win. And because I can't let myself imagine you losing."

I take a deep breath before continuing, temporarily not trusting myself to speak. "What did Sheen say?"

"Nothing. The boy didn't say a word."

"For four hours?" I ask incredulously.

He nods but then continues, contradicting himself slightly. "Well, that's not strictly true. He did explain that he wasn't going to say anything because I would only tell you."

"I suppose I can't blame him for seeing it that way. I probably would if I was in his place. It would be like me having a heart to heart with Lace."

"I did hear him telling her about you and District Two though. He seems to think you're getting quite friendly."

"There is no me and District Two," I snap, annoyed at the thought of my district partner and my supposed mentor discussing me behind my back. "When years of tradition are forcing me to ally with Sheen, Two and Four, can you blame me for attempting to work with the one person who isn't mentored by Finnick Odair and is least likely to drive me insane before we even get within reach of the arena?"

Falco laughs and Felix shakes his head. "Just don't trust him. Don't trust anyone," he says seriously.

"Relax, Felix. I'm not stupid."

"I never said you were," he replies. "It makes me feel better to know I have told you anyway, whether you need me to or not."

I don't know what to say to that, mostly because it sounds like something Gloss would say, so I decide not to speak at all. He smiles as if he understands what I'm thinking, and even though I know he doesn't, the gesture makes me feel better.

"I have to go. I still have work to do,"

He rises to his feet and runs his hand sharply through his hair, which is just long enough to remain sticking out at right angles when he returns his arm to his side. So that's why his hair is never neat and tidy. I look up at my stylist then, examining his face closely and seeing that the eyes framed by the golden circle tattoos look a lot more tired than they did before. He is taking this seriously, this means something to him, and I hope I'm not wrong to hope that it is for more of a reason than because he wants to make an impact in his first year styling for the Games.

"So the dress really isn't finished yet?"

"It will be," he tells me firmly. "It will be."

* * *

It is at least two hours after Felix's departure when I finally decide I've had enough of my silent contemplation. My stylist's warning not to trust anyone in the arena made me abruptly realise that I have less than forty-eight hours before the Games truly begin, and I have spent the time since he left trying to make my final decision about what my plan will be when they do. Shall I stay at the Cornucopia or shall I risk it and run? Will I be better off on my own? Will I have sponsors to help me if I leave? Will staying with the others get me nothing more than Dahlia's knife in my back before the echo of the starting gong has even stopped?

I look across at Falco, who has sat without speaking for the whole time, almost as if he is waiting for me to make up my mind. He stares steadily back at me, and I take a deep breath, for once not looking at him like I usually do but like he is the mentor Lace and Topaz have never been. This isn't the time for me to be trying to work out what I feel for him, not that the build-up to the Hunger Games ever really was, this is the time to do what I have to do to stay alive.

"Do you know anything? About the arena, I mean," I ask, looking at the floor in shame when I do but at the same time knowing that I have to ask, that I can't not ask.

"No, Cashmere, I don't," he replies quickly, sounding like he wishes there was something he could tell me, however small. "Only the Gamemakers know, and the president, of course. And he'd have them executed for merely considering telling anyone about the Games, you know that as well as I do."

"I know," I say. "I just don't know what to do because I don't know what to expect."

"If you leave Sheen and the others then I will help you as much as I can, but you might be safer with them to start with. There is a tradition of the One, Two and Four alliance for a reason."

"How did you know that's what I was thinking about?" I ask, temporarily distracted from my planning.

"It's one of the few variables you can control. If I was in your place then that's what I'd be thinking about." I stare at him in shock. Never before have I heard anyone from the Capitol admit that they have even dreamed about being in the same position as someone from the districts. He smiles slightly and continues. "And from what you've said so far, I can tell the alliance is weak."

"Have I got support? Tell me the truth."

"Of course you have. I wouldn't lie to you."

"But you might tell me half the truth."

He raises his eyebrows at that. "Play nice, Butterfly. I'm trying to help you, why would I lie?"

I shake my head. "You wouldn't. I know that, it's just so hard to make a choice when I can't trust anyone or anything."

"You can trust yourself. Do what you think is right, that's all any of us can do."

That short sentence is what makes my decision for me. The alliance feels wrong. It always has. I can't work with District Four when all I see when I look at them is Sapphire's death, there is every chance that Dahlia will try to kill me as soon as we face each other before the Cornucopia, and from everything I have seen, allying with Sheen is a quick and easy way to get myself killed.

"Promise me that if I die then it won't be because I starve," I tell Falco with half a smile at my feeble attempt at joking about a situation that really isn't funny.

"You're not going to die," he shouts, making me jump slightly in response to the raised voice I have hardly ever heard. "It isn't going to happen. Not of starvation or anything else."

"I-"

"No, Cashmere," he says sternly. "We are not going to have that conversation. We are going to get up and go back to the dining room for dinner. Do you understand?"

I nod almost imperceptibly and allow him to guide me from the room, constantly thinking of the decision I thought I just made but am now nowhere near as certain. My options fly around and around in my head for the entire evening and long after I go to bed, and at some point in the middle of the night, I realise that I won't definitely know what I'm going to do until I'm in the arena and the gong to start the Games has been sounded.

* * *

Before Sapphire died, I always used to sleep well, occasionally in my bed but most of the time in hers. It had been like that since we were very young. I would have bad dreams and then creep across the corridor so I could be next to one of the two people in the world who could chase them away just by being there. After a while I didn't bother going to my own room and would sleep in hers instead, a tradition that lasted many years longer than my childhood nightmares. Then she left me, and that is when the nightmares came again, different ones this time but just as real and just as horrible. I only have one person left to chase them away now, and he is back in District One, waiting to see if I will return home to him or leave him like Sapphire did.

That is why I'm not at all surprised to find myself sitting up in bed, watching the sky through the huge window as I've been doing since well before dawn. I know I should move but I really don't want to. This is it for me. My performance in one interview which lasts no longer than three minutes could quite literally determine if I live or die. Before I came here, I didn't think I would be scared, but I am. I might admit it only to myself, but for the first time in my life I am truly scared.

"Cashmere! Cashmere, wake up! It's Interview Day!"

I hear the loud and over-excited voice at the same time as Charis and Callista come bounding into the room, once again not bothering to knock.

"I'm awake, I'm awake," I reply, forcing what I hope is a convincing smile onto my face as I climb down from the bed to meet them, quickly realising that if I don't then they will soon be jumping onto the bed themselves to fetch me. "Where's Drusilla?"

"In the other room. She's preparing," answers Charis ominously, the twinkle in her eyes telling me she's only teasing.

"Are you excited? Your dress is fabulous. You're going to look amazing," interrupts Callista.

I look at them, with their enthusiastic faces and blissful expressions, and despite how 'excited' wouldn't be my word of choice to describe how I'm feeling, I don't find it that difficult to smile back.

"I'm really looking forward to seeing it. Felix refused to tell me anything."

"He didn't finish it until last night," continues Callista, speaking so rapidly that I struggle to keep up as I let her push me towards the door. "He insisted on making it himself and wouldn't let us help at all."

I smile at that, remembering how stressed he had appeared when he left Falco and I in the television room yesterday and hoping she didn't mean that he stayed up _all _night.

As soon as I set foot out of the bedroom, Drusilla swoops down and drags me into the bathroom, pointing at the almost overflowing bath.

"I think you've worked out the routine by now," she says. "Your performance at the Opening Ceremony proved you're not a complete waste of my time."

I roll my eyes and do as she says, this time thinking nothing of it when Charis follows me into the room and helps me lift my nightdress over my head.

"I told you she likes you," she says. "I've known her since I first came to the Remake Centre six years ago and that is the closest thing to a compliment I've ever heard her give to a tribute."

"I just hope the rest of the city agrees with her," I retort before I have time to think about what I'm saying, letting my nerves show in a way I have already promised myself not to.

She temporarily stops rearranging the contents of the bathroom to reach down and squeeze my shoulder reassuringly. "They love you already, and for what it's worth, I think I'll be helping you to dress a few more times after this."

The way her long, perfectly groomed and undeniably sharp nails dig into my skin is almost painful, but I ignore that, finding that her words mean more to me than I ever imagined they would. She wants me to win, that much is obvious from her tone of voice as well as from what she says. I don't think for a second that she's lying or telling me what I want to hear, because she isn't like me; she's never had a reason to lie, at least not about something so serious as the Games. I wanted her support and I have it, I have earned it, but somewhere along the way I seem to have won her friendship too, and that is something I didn't even begin to consider.

"Hurry up, Cashmere!" calls Drusilla from the other room. "We should have started your make-up ten minutes ago!"

"It's only about an hour after dawn," I whine to Charis. "I haven't had any breakfast yet. And am I really going to be wearing so much make-up that it takes all day to apply it?"

She laughs. "I've arranged for food to be sent up a bit later. There's no chance of any of us starving."

Not yet anyway, I say to myself inside my head. Give it a couple of days and then there might be, in my case if not hers.

"That's good," I reply, smiling at her as I climb from the bath, wrapping my robe tightly around me before making my way into the main room via the hairdryer. I don't know why I bother really as I'm sure it's only a matter of a very short time before Drusilla subjects me to the indignity of being without it.

"Hurry up, Cashmere," says the final member of my prep team, her voice still as stern as ever. "We have to make you worth the wait considering how many people are waiting."

I look back at Charis and Callista, confused by Drusilla's words. They smile widely back at me.

"Haven't you seen the papers?" gushes Callista. "You're the tribute everyone's talking about. You're the favourite in the betting and people are queuing up to sponsor you."

"I know that much from what Falco told me," I reply, not quite sure what to make of their enthusiasm. "It's close between Dahlia and I."

Drusilla scoffs at the mention of my rival. "She's popular in some circles but not with people of class," she says snootily. "Why would anyone sensible want to sponsor a girl who takes no pride in her appearance? I told you before the Opening Ceremony, these things matter."

I can't help but laugh at her casual dismissal of the girl the Gamemakers have judged to be the most dangerous tribute in this year's Games, and when I do, the merest hint of a smile shows on her face for a split second before it disappears without a trace. Part of me wants to be the voice of reason and tell her that there is a lot more to becoming a Hunger Games victor than looks, but the rest of me decides not to question her support and just be grateful that I have it.

* * *

For the several hours that follow, my prep team prepare me for my three minutes in the spotlight, talking both amongst themselves and to me as they do, including me in their group almost like an equal when we stop for lunch. Like I did at the Remake Centre, I try to follow their conversation, choosing not to point out that I know nothing of half the people and places they ask for my opinion on, attempting to remember as much detail as I can. Charis and Callista treat me little differently to how they treat each other, and if I don't always agree with their views and beliefs then I keep that knowledge to myself. When I win the Games I will need their help, I will be relying on them to teach me so much. The minefield of District One will be nothing compared to that of the Capitol and I know that once I become a victor then I will have to walk through both.

"…and then he told me how nice I looked and how much my clothes complimented my colouring…Cashmere! Cashmere, are you even listening to me!"

"Yes, yes, I'm listening, Callista. Didn't I tell you that you should wear blue? I was right, wasn't I?"

When she nods enthusiastically, I breathe a silent sigh of relief that my reply was obviously the one she wanted despite the fact that I had barely heard a word she said. She immediately launches into another tale of the party she had been discussing for most of the day I spent in the Remake Centre before the Opening Ceremony, but all three of them abruptly stop talking when Felix sweeps into the room, the door banging on the wall before bouncing back to close with a loud crash behind him.

I laugh. "Isn't it me who's supposed to be practising my grand entrance not you?"

He smiles at me before turning to the prep team. "Everybody out," he orders, firmly but not unkindly.

Drusilla, Charis and Callista move towards the door, the latter looking more than a little dejected and disappointed. Unable to resist even though I know it's my nerves making me start joking around when I really shouldn't, I get up and follow them.

"What are you doing?" asks Felix, the amused expression that appears on his face making me suspect he already knows exactly what I'm doing and why and that he can see right through my façade of fearlessness.

"You said everyone," I retort flatly.

"You're not everyone. Go back over there," he says, pointing to the full length mirror that had appeared in the room overnight, yet more evidence of the Capitol's careful planning.

I do as I'm told and he pushes my robe off my shoulders, quickly replacing it with my interview dress. He doesn't give me the chance to look down before he spins me around to face the mirror, smiling at me as he looks at my reflection.

"I knew it would work," he says, sounding more than a little smug.

The dress I'm wearing appears to be made entirely of rubies and diamonds despite how the feeling of the solid material against my skin tells me it isn't. It's sleeveless and drops off into a very narrow but plunging neckline that reaches down to just above my navel. So that's why he wanted the extra measurement yesterday.

I stare at myself for several seconds without speaking, moving slightly backwards and forwards to make the dress sparkle as it catches the light. When I move forwards, I immediately feel the weight of the material which forms the skirt of the dress dragging behind me. It has a split in the front that reaches up to the middle of my thighs, and when I turn away from the mirror to walk over to Felix, it pulls back even more, explaining why Drusilla had insisted my legs had to be coated in a layer of shimmering gold powder.

"Does it meet the required standard to make you unforgettable?" my stylist asks, the look on his face telling me he already knows the answer to his question.

I don't know what to say. The colour will stand out even in the multicoloured chaos of the City Circle, it shows the audience just enough without being too much, it's everything I could have wished for, but now I can't find words.

"Do I take your silence as a 'yes'?" he asks through his laughter.

"Yes," I reply, leaning against his hand as he reaches up to rearrange my hair. "Thank you. Thank you for everything you've done to help me."

"Don't tell me that," he says. "You can thank me when I'm preparing you for your second interview. I don't want to hear it now."

"You might not want to hear it but I'm glad I've said it. I might not get chance to tomorrow," I continue, shivering at the thought that Felix will be the last person I see before I enter the arena.

"Come on," he says, taking my hand and leading me towards the door. "Don't talk like that, not in front of me and especially not in front of Falco."

"Why? I can't help thinking about it and who else am I going to talk to?"

He stays silent for so long that I don't think he's going to reply, but then he turns to look at me as we wait for the lift to take us downstairs. "You have to focus, Cashmere. You've watched enough of the Games to know that if you don't then you will end up suffering for it."

I nod and take a deep breath, pushing all thoughts of everything but the interview from my mind. He's right, I have to concentrate. This means more to me than anything that has happened over the past three days. This is my equivalent of what the training scores are to District Two. I have to make it work.

**Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter and sorry if I haven't had chance to reply. I've had a busy week but I'll try to do better this time so let me know what you think. It'll be the interviews next week - I've already written it :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**It's a bit early but I don't think I'll get another chance to post this weekend, so... Thanks to be-nice-to-nerds for giving me a push in the right direction with the ending :)**

Chapter Nine

When the lift doors slid open to reveal the entrance hall of the Training Centre, the massive glass doors flung wide open so the City Circle can clearly be seen from inside, all I could see was people. It looked like Reaping Day at home only with what seemed like four times as many in the crowd. The colours were just that little bit brighter here, the people seemed to stand just that little bit taller, but the atmosphere and the feeling of anticipation was exactly the same. I could sense them waiting for us as clearly as I could hear them, a thousand different conversations all happening at once. Then Felix pushed me gently towards a door set to the side of the main entrance and down a series of steps until all I could hear of the crowd was a faint buzzing.

There are no other people down here, or so it seems at the moment. I didn't even see Sheen and his style team when we left Level One and that makes me slow down and eventually stop in the middle of the narrow corridor to look questioningly up at Felix.

"We're running a bit late," he says slightly sheepishly. "I decided I wanted to add this to your dress at the last minute," he continues, reaching down to lift the skirt of the shimmering garment just enough to reveal an underskirt of vivid sapphire blue.

"But nobody can see it," I say, even though I understand the reference straight away.

"You know it's there. It isn't for anyone else. You know what you have to do so don't let us down."

I don't know what to say to that. Before I came here, nobody but Gloss and Sapphire had ever done anything solely for my benefit or to make me feel better, and now I seem to have acquired two people who are doing everything they can to help me through this, to help me live.

"Thank you," I tell him eventually, surprised to hear my voice crack but not at all surprised when he shakes his head to tell me I don't have to thank him.

"Lucretia and Sheen were just ahead of us," he says, and as we turn a corner I immediately see them at the back of what looks to be a group of tributes, stylists, prep team members and other associated hangers on.

Judging by the chaos I see before me, we seem to be the very last to arrive, and after watching for a minute, I notice a couple of very stressed-looking Capitol officials who seem to be attempting to restore order. One of them is a young man, not much older than me by the look of him, and he is clearly either new to his job or simply not very good at it. He doesn't seem to be able to make himself heard over the stylists and on the rare occasion they do hear him, he is promptly ignored.

His colleague is a lot older, and it quickly becomes apparent that he has developed a trusted method of boosting his air of authority, which largely consists of carrying a clipboard and waving it around so violently that many of the stylists duck and run for cover.

"Line up in district order," he instructs the tributes authoritatively. "Quickly now, it's time to start. The nation is waiting."

Sheen rushes forwards anxiously but I wait until everyone else is where they're meant to be before I start to walk slowly towards the front of the tribute line. Everyone stares at me, just like I knew they would. I can feel their eyes on me even though I make myself focus resolutely ahead, feigning indifference.

I manage to maintain my façade despite my racing heart until I nearly reach the front and see Dahlia glaring at me. She looks even more intimidating than normal, dressed up all in black and with eye make-up to match, and out of the corner of my eye I can see the tributes from District Three shrinking away from her. She doesn't see them though, she sees only me, and if looks could kill then I would have died a thousand deaths by now. By her side in the line but with the usual slight distance between them, Corvinus teasingly whistles when he sees me, as casually arrogant and seemingly unaffected by all that surrounds him as ever, and I smirk back in return.

"The parade onto the stage can't start without me," I say to both of them, deliberately tilting my head back slightly and looking down my nose at Dahlia. "The Capitol needs to see who it's sponsoring."

Dahlia laughs coldly. "Sponsors won't save you, District One. You think you're better than everyone else but you'll bleed like any other tribute when we get in the arena."

"Last year won't happen again, Dahlia," I say, smiling more at the confused look on her face than for any other reason. "I'm going home and you're not going to stop me."

I sweep past her and I'm ushered to my place at the front of the line and then onto the stage immediately. Straight away, I am almost deafened by the noise of the crowd. I can hear them screaming my name so I smile and wave just like I did at the Opening Ceremony. Then they cheer even louder.

"Someone's popular," says Sheen as we sit down at our positions in the semi-circle of twenty-four chairs on the stage. Something in his tone of voice tells me that he hasn't forgiven me for going out of the Training Centre with Falco.

"We must use the weapons we have," I reply as I continue to scan the front stand, unable to stop myself from thinking how that is rapidly becoming my favourite line.

My eyes find Falco's so quickly that I know he was staring straight at me. He smiles almost imperceptibly and I return the gesture before turning back to the audience, refusing to let myself be distracted when this is so vitally important. I look back a few seconds later though, and for some reason I relax a little when I see he is still watching me.

Caesar Flickerman is announced then, and the crowd who fill the City Circle cheer once more. He's lime green this year, and despite the fact it really isn't his colour, it seems popular with everyone else. He warms the audience up with his usual jokes, and I stare defiantly into the camera nearest to me when he suggests pointedly that there are a lot of men in the Capitol who know exactly who they will be sponsoring this year.

I don't know what I'm truly feeling inside as I feel so many emotions that all seem to contradict each other. Part of me is laughing, knowing his words are true and feeling happier than I can say that my strategy is working, but another part of me doesn't want the other tributes to get the impression my looks are all I have. Then I tell myself that what they think now doesn't matter, that they will find out for themselves tomorrow and that if they underestimate me then it will be their funeral. That thought makes it considerably easier to smile at yet another camera as it moves steadily towards me, the man behind it waving to catch my attention.

Before I know it, they are calling my name and I am rising to my feet to begin my three minutes in the spotlight. I draw my shoulders back and lift my head up high, gazing out at the audience as I approach Caesar. They are my allies, I feel no fear.

* * *

I walk slowly across to where the most famous television presenter in Panem waits at the front of the stage, waving to the crowd as I go. I look into the main camera and allow my fixed smile to fade slightly for a split second to leave only the true, genuine version behind. I hope Gloss was watching the screen then. I hope that whatever he thinks of my decision to do this, at this moment, he is proud of me.

I shake Caesar's hand and return his beaming smile.

"That was quite an entrance, Cashmere. You're very beautiful."

"Thank you," I reply, not seeing much point in denying it with false modesty.

"You seem relaxed here too. Are you sure you haven't done this before?" he continues, the smile never fading.

I laugh with the audience and then shake my head. "No, I haven't, but why would I feel uncomfortable here? I have been treated with nothing but kindness since I arrived."

Well that isn't strictly the truth but it's what they want to hear and therefore what I need to say. There is no room for honesty in this place, something that is confirmed when someone in the crowd breaks the silence by calling out 'I love you, Cashmere!" at the top of his voice. A split second later everyone else laughs, especially when someone else can't resist adding 'Not as much as I do!'.

"We are more than happy to welcome one such as you," he replies. "And dare I say it, as you might have already noticed, I think there are more than a few people who would be more than pleased to celebrate your victory as well." I don't mean for it to happen, but as he says those words, my eyes meet Falco's before Caesar quickly jolts my focus back to the stage by continuing. "How do you rate your chances? Can you win?"

"Of course. Tomorrow is when the whole country will see there is more to me than my physical appearance."

"I don't doubt it for a second," he says. "Now, I have to ask you, Cashmere, is there anything you can tell me about your plan for tomorrow?"

I lean forwards in my chair as if I am about to let him in on a great secret, before whispering to Caesar. "I would love to, but I don't want to spoil the surprise."

He laughs along with the crowd. "Sensible girl, very sensible. You're not just a pretty face, are you?"

I smile knowingly but don't speak, half focussing on him and half focussing on the nearest camera. Like I would be idiotic enough to fall for that one. Do they really think I would be stupid enough to tell the whole world any of my thoughts about what I'm going to do tomorrow?

"We'll swiftly move on then," continues my lime-green haired interviewer. "What is your favourite thing about our wonderful city?"

'Thank you, Caesar,' I think to myself as he finally asks the question I have been waiting for. I shift my weight in my chair ever so slightly because I know it will make my dress sparkle.

"Everything," I say enthusiastically, knowing that in this above all other responses, I need to tell them exactly what they want to hear. It isn't that much of a stretch of the imagination anyway. I like it here already, and I think that as a victor, when I can explore properly and even be seen as a celebrity here, I will love it all the more. If I have to gush a bit more than I would normally then I'm sure it will be worth it in the end. "There are so many places I want to see. And I can't wait to go shopping."

Caesar smiles indulgently at me as I continue to talk about what I want to do when I've won the Games before moving on to thank Felix and my prep team for everything they have done for me. I don't know if I should mention Falco or not, and in the end I decide not to. I don't think I trust myself to say the right thing when it comes to him so I quickly realise it's best to say nothing at all. I look around at the audience, and from the expressions on their faces, I can see that the vast majority of them are as totally convinced as Caesar appears to be.

"You could take gifts for your family," Caesar says. "Are they waiting for you back home?"

"I'm sure they're all watching," I tell him, imagining Mother, Father and Satin lined up in the family sitting room, scowling at the television. I wonder if Gloss is with them or if he has retreated to his own room. I know he'll be watching and I just wish I could talk to him. "I can't wait to see my brother again."

"Tell me about your brother, Cashmere. I'm sure the ladies of the Capitol would love to meet him if there's any family resemblance between you. I'm sure a masculine version of you would have no shortage of admirers."

I struggle not to laugh at that, picturing in my mind the horrified expression I know will be on Gloss's face right now. I'm sure he can think of few things worse than being forced to meet the 'Ladies of the Capitol'.

"I love him more than anyone else in the world. And I'm going to keep the promise I made to him when I left District One, I hope he still knows that," I say, looking into the camera not at Caesar, hoping that wherever he is in our house, Gloss is looking straight at the television screen. "I hope he likes my dress as well," I continue, standing up and spinning around once, lifting the skirt of my dress so it flares out to reveal the sapphire-coloured underskirt.

"I have no doubt that he loves it as much as the rest of us do," replies my interviewer with a smile, obviously not understanding my real motive and what I was really hoping my brother would notice. "And you seem very confident that you will be able to ask him in person very soon." Then it is his turn to lean forwards to me as if he is trying to conceal his words from the many thousands of people watching us. "Tell me, Cashmere, exactly how many boys do you have waiting for you to come home? I bet your brother has a hard time keeping the men of District One away from his sister."

The crowd laugh at that and I smile with them, but it is a different smile this time, an arrogant and slightly sly smile that is all for my fellow tributes. "There is nobody other than my brother who I am waiting to see again, and if there is anyone who thinks they're waiting for me back in District One then they will be waiting a long time. Gloss doesn't need to keep people away from me though. Everyone will find out tomorrow that I am more than capable of fighting my own battles."

"Fighting talk as well as incredible beauty, you really are made for this, aren't you?" I don't contradict him. "So that leads me nicely onto my next question. What do you think of the other tributes? Is there anybody you think will be competition for you? District Two look strong this year and so do District Seven. They have surprised us all this year."

"You can never tell what will happen in the arena, but I'm still confident. I think the others will all have noticed by now that I fear none of them, no matter how much some of them tell themselves differently," I finish, turning in my chair ever so slightly to look in Dahlia's direction. She looks positively murderous and the audience don't miss our exchange.

As soon as I finish my sentence, the buzzer to indicate my three minutes is up sounds loudly across the City Circle and I realise I must have been discussing the Capitol with Caesar for longer than I thought without realising. I smile at that, knowing that there is one thing the Capitolians love above almost anything else in the world, and that is people having a conversation about how wonderful they are.

Caesar rises to his feet with me and announces my name and district number once more before gently guiding me in the direction of my chair. I walk slowly across the stage to the accompaniment of the audience's almost deafening cheers and sit down. It takes several minutes for them to fall silent enough for Sheen's name to be called even when Caesar himself raises his arms to ask for quiet, but eventually the shouts of my name stop and my district partner rises to his feet and takes my place. Almost as soon as it started, my interview is over. Just like that. And now there is nothing else standing between me and the arena. This time tomorrow I will be there, and for the first time I feel slightly light-headed at the thought.

I take a deep breath and force myself to focus on the stage, where Sheen sits and answers Caesar's questions with the arrogance and immaturity I have come to expect from my district partner. I still don't know much about him other than what I have seen first-hand, and I know nothing of his life back in District One other than that he can't have been all that wealthy or I would have seen him at one of my father's many parties and gatherings. His interview passes quickly as I struggle to realign my thoughts after the blur that was my own, and before I know it, he is retaking his place in the chair next to me and Dahlia is making her way over to Caesar.

Everything about her radiates aggression, from the way she walks to the fierce glare which is etched upon her face, and even the way she stands as she shakes our interviewer's hand. You don't need to be a genius to guess what her angle will be before she has spoken a single word.

She spends the majority of her three minutes telling the audience exactly how slow and painful a death her competitors are going to endure and she reveals absolutely nothing about herself even when Caesar asks her direct questions about her life back in District Two. Her response to the question of how she feels about her opposition is to say to the audience; 'I hope nobody watching has become too attached to District One's pretty face'.

My initial response is to smirk, and it is no great surprise when I see myself appear on the big screen above the stage that displays the event to those who aren't standing close enough to see what's going on. At least she acknowledges my superiority in one area. At the moment, I am choosing to call that progress, though what I will call it tomorrow, I couldn't begin to guess.

Corvinus takes to the stage after his district partner and I watch him intently, as curious about the man who has somehow ended up becoming my closest ally as he is about me. As I predicted, he says virtually nothing, but as I also predicted, he really doesn't have to. His body language and expression alone easily exude as much menace as Dahlia did.

When asked about his family he says that with one exception, they are all dead, narrowing his dark eyes and scowling when Caesar decides to press him on the subject but still stubbornly saying nothing further. When the lime-green haired man from the Capitol asks him about a girlfriend, all he will say is that this is the Hunger Games and he isn't here to talk about his personal life. It seems over-daring to me when he tells the Capitol that such things are his business not theirs, but in the end they seem to love him all the more for it. Even though his neck is as bare of his district token as mine is of my own, once again I can't help but wonder who that silver ring belongs to.

As he leaves the stage the crowd cheer loudly for him, just as they did for Dahlia, but I quickly notice that they made more noise for me. However, they do little more than clap politely for the tiny girl from District Three, and it is a struggle to watch her even though I promised myself and Falco and Felix that I would focus on every interview in case one of the others revealed something that might be useful to me in the arena.

The girl whose name I can't remember despite how it has just been announced looks so small and scared, and even though I know and believe I have accepted what will happen tomorrow, I am surprised by how long it takes me to regain my focus when I see her. She is struck almost dumb with fear and Caesar does most of the talking for her. The only time she speaks loudly enough to be heard and for her voice to be picked up clearly by the cameras is when she says she wants her father. Caesar kindly tells her that he hopes she will be able to see him very soon, but everyone watching, myself included, knows there is next to no chance that will ever happen.

Once the girl is replaced by her district partner, who looks almost as feeble as she does, I quickly decide I have seen enough. I don't want to hear them talk, I don't want to know their names and the names of their family and friends. I know the arena will be difficult enough without that so I also know I have to find a way of blocking it out.

I attempt to distract myself by gazing at the audience, and from my position at the front of the stage, all I can really see is the front few rows of people. I can see the stylists, the escorts and then the mentors, all neatly lined up in district order in typical Capitol fashion, of course. Some of them are paying avid attention to the interviews but some of them look like they are mentally somewhere else entirely.

Felix is watching the stage intently, sitting next to a very over-excited looking Lucretia, who gives me every impression she's had one too many glasses of the wine that is apparently provided to the audience. The expression on Falco's face is one of a concentration just as intense, but I can't help noticing how his eyes flick over to me every so often and it is a real effort to make myself look away.

Lace and Topaz sit in the next row up, and it gives me great pleasure to see an emotion other than hatred and resentment upon the face of my least favourite mentor. The emotion I currently see is barely suppressed fear, and it is etched into every aspect of her face and body language as she tries to sit as far away from Enobaria as is physically possible in the narrow confines of the stand. The sight of her feeling so uncomfortable makes me smile until it suddenly occurs to me that if she's there then He will be there too.

Almost unwillingly, my eyes travel along the row of mentors, past the man from District Three I spoke to so briefly that day after training and his younger looking companion, an intelligent-looking woman with the light olive skin of their district and masses of wavy dark brown hair. Then I feel my heart begin to pound as a hatred I have never felt before suddenly fills me so completely it is a struggle not to let it show on my face.

He sits there, casually leaning forwards to say something to one of the escorts, acting as if the interviews and the tributes on the stage mean nothing to him, and when he looks up, his sea green eyes seem brighter than they ever did on the television. I will never forget those eyes. I will never forget the person they belong to. I hate him. I will always hate him. Finnick Odair. The boy who killed my sister.

I wonder if he realises he won't be mentoring a winning tribute this year. I'm sure he doesn't. I bet he doesn't even remember Sapphire and wouldn't know me if I told him who I was, but that doesn't mean I will ever forget. Whether he knows it or not, I have sworn to myself that whenever he thinks of the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games in the future, he will think of blood, death and destruction, he will have memories that cause him nothing but pain, just like I have of the year before.

When his tributes take to the stage, first Marcia, who appears as quietly confident as ever, and then Octavian, who also maintains his child-like enthusiasm and excitement, he sits up and listens. That gives me confidence, that makes me believe I have a way to have a small proportion of the revenge I have dreamed about for nearly a year. Only if he cares for them will it work, and from the expression on his face as he watches them, I can tell he cares.

Districts Five and Six pass by in a blur, none of the four tributes doing or saying anything even vaguely memorable, but then it's Davena's turn. She walks purposefully across the stage in her dark-green and brown dress, formally shaking Caesar's hand before quickly sitting down. Although she is never going to be conventionally beautiful, at nearly six feet tall, with dark hair that flows down to her knees now it is released from the tightly bound style she usually wears it in, and those strange green eyes that stand out so vividly from the rest of her features, she makes quite an impression. I immediately sense the way the whole audience sits up and listens, and against my better judgement and instinct, I listen too.

She answers all of Caesar's questions politely but in a clipped and detached voice that never changes, claiming to be indifferent to the sights and sounds of the Capitol, unaffected by the makeover she has received from her stylists and unafraid of what will happen tomorrow. All I can think is that it has to be deliberate, as the person I have watched in training for days is a lot of things but emotionless certainly isn't one of them. The way she is acting makes her an enigma to the audience and she knows it. She is trying to capture their attention with every impassive word she speaks, and judging from the total silence that fills the City Circle, her ploy seems to be working. That is until Caesar asks her about her family.

Her composure visibly cracks when she's asked about her parents and siblings, and as she talks about how she works in the forests of District Seven with her father and brother, toiling all hours so they, her mother and her other four, much younger brothers and sisters can eat and live, there is such total love in her voice that nobody seems to even dare to breathe in case they break the spell which holds them all enthralled.

"I haven't given up yet though," she says, "so the four younger ones had better make sure they keep working hard at school and don't let this distract them or they'll be in so much trouble when I get home."

Her voice catches just as she finishes her sentence, and somehow from hearing her speak for a couple of short minutes, I can tell she is trying to be strong for them. That must be how she has always been. I wonder how many tesserae she took out for them? Surely that must be what has put her on this stage tonight, and yet she obviously has no regrets and feels nothing but love for them still. She feels for them what I feel for Gloss, and it is that similarity between us that suddenly makes her real to me. I take a deep breath and look back into the stands as the buzzer sounds and she returns to her seat, clearly furious with herself for revealing as much as she did even though it seems to have done her a lot of favours with the audience. I have to distract myself from this, for the second I start thinking about the other tributes as anything other than obstacles getting in the way of my journey home will be the second that I lose the game.

* * *

After Davena and her district partner, who, despite the fact his size and strength is rivalled only by Corvinus, spent his three minutes swapping jokes with Caesar in a way that made me think he wasn't trying to win support or play an angle because he didn't think he had a chance of winning, the rest of the interviews passed by without incident or anyone standing out from the rest. I watched the girl from Nine just like Falco told me to, but the girl revealed nothing. She came across as likeable, young for her age, which she confirmed as sixteen, and appeared to be as shocked by her training score as everyone else. She must be an amazing actress, because I didn't and still don't see how her surprise could have been genuine.

I am still thinking of her when the ubiquitous anthem starts to play as a signal the interviews are over and we are all instructed to stand. I can see the crowd better from this angle, and notice for the first time that there are many children in the audience. The sons and daughters of the wealthiest people in the Capitol, all dressed like miniature versions of their parents, are waving elaborately bound programmes around and many of them have posters and banners so they can declare their allegiance to whichever tribute will be receiving their money in sponsorship this year. I smile when I see how many of them bear my own name or picture.

When the last chords of the anthem fade, the buzz of the audience's many thousands of conversations starts up again and the official with the clipboard who had ushered us onto the stage earlier appears to instruct me to lead the tributes back down again. I do as I am told, waving to the audience as I go and getting a chorus of raucous cheers and shouts in return. If only the Hunger Games could be a popularity contest. If it was then it doesn't take a genius to work out that I would have won already.

* * *

I hadn't given much thought to how I wanted to spend the last night before the arena, and I find myself heading towards the lifts with the other tributes, mainly because I can think of nowhere to go but back to Level One of the Training Centre. Of Felix and Falco, there is no sign, and I can't even see Lace or Topaz, not that I especially want to see either of them anyway.

I am ambushed by a pair of brightly coloured photographers as I cross the entrance hall, and it is an effort to extricate myself from them as politely as possible considering I am suddenly not in the mood for the cameras to be flashing anymore. When I finally make it, most of the crowd of people have gone, and I am alone when I step into a lift and push the button for my floor.

"It's a shame they won't let you wear that in the arena. It could have been your deadliest weapon."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask as I turn to face the man from District Seven as he slips through the gap between the rapidly closing lift doors. "I don't need a pretty dress to make them remember me. And surely training has taught you I'm more than capable of looking after myself."

"So defensive," he replies, smiling the same smile I saw in his interview. "So serious."

"This is serious," I retort immediately. "Although it doesn't seem to be to you. Don't you understand what's going to happen tomorrow?"

For a brief second, the smile fades and the expression it leaves behind is tense and fearful. It looks odd on a person of his stature.

"I understand just fine," he replies. "Doesn't mean I have to think about it all the time."

"You're strong and you can fight. Aren't you even going to try?"

"I'm not a killer," he says simply, "so I guess that means I'm a dead man, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let them get off on my fear. If not taking it seriously is the only way to hide my feelings then I'm just going to keep on joking."

I don't know what to say to that, and I don't know if I'm relieved when the lift bell rings and the doors slide open or if I'm disappointed that we can't talk for longer. I wish I could ask him who he means by 'them'. I know I am meant to assume he means the other tributes, but instinct tells me that he doesn't. Instinct tells me he means the Capitol, and if I'm right then he will really have to watch what he's saying. Then it hits me that he doesn't see the point, he doesn't think he has anything left to lose. I quickly turn and leave the lift, suddenly wanting to be alone.

"Good luck, Deadly-Beautiful," he calls after me just as the doors click together.

"Good luck," I whisper back under my breath even though he can't hear me.

I don't know what to think as I make my way down the corridor. First Corvinus, then Davena and now this man whose name I don't even know. I have tried so hard to not know about these people, to not even think about them as people and see them merely as obstacles in the way of my victory, but tonight seems to have been conspiring against me to change that. Now before I can even begin to compose myself and focus my mind for tomorrow, I have to stop thinking about them and how they will all have to die.

* * *

I am still in a world of my own when I reach my district's rooms, and I walk straight past Topaz without really seeing him as I head blindly towards my room.

"The replays are on," he calls after me.

"Once is enough," I call back, deciding that solitude is preferable to the company of him, Lace and Sheen, and continuing to walk.

I retreat to the quiet of my own rooms, dragging the sofa over to the floor-to-ceiling window on the other side of the sitting room so I can curl up on it and gaze out at the seemingly infinite sky and the bright lights of the Capitol below, which at this precise moment, the way I am feeling now, seem equally as infinite.

I watch as the twilight gradually fades to darkness, trying to fight the nagging voice in my head that insists on suggesting how that could have been the last time I see the sun set. Where have these irrational and negative thoughts come from? Why am I thinking such things when I'm not going to lose?

I close my eyes and force myself to think of happier thoughts. I think about Gloss, of how it will feel to see him again if I can just get through this. I imagine the look on both his and our father's face as my brother and I tell the man who has controlled us like possessions all our lives that he controls us no longer. That is why I did this, that is what I have to remember. It's what Sapphire would have wanted and I hope that if she can see me now then she is proud of the decision I made.

Whatever I have told my prep team, it isn't the thought of the Capitol which will keep me going in the arena, but the thought of what will happen when I leave here. I will leave here a free woman, well as free as anyone from the districts can ever be anyway, and that thought is what puts a smile upon my face despite the prospect of the arena.

* * *

When I am suddenly jolted awake by my nightmare, I can barely see a thing in a room lit only by the small table lamp which rests upon the sideboard a short distance away. I had been racing through a narrow corridor, with the walls crumbling and crashing around me as I struggled to reach Gloss and Falco, who were waiting for me in a doorway that seemed to get further and further away no matter how fast I ran or how many times they called my name.

I jump to my feet when I hear a banging noise, which my half-asleep mind eventually identifies as a knock on the door when it finally frees itself from the echo of my dream. Turning to look at the clock on the mantelpiece, I see that it's half-past one in the morning. The infuriating butterflies that won't leave me alone make another circuit of my stomach as I realise there are only a few hours to go. The knock comes again, no louder but somehow more insistent, and before I can decide what to do, the door slowly swings open.

"I don't like being ignored, Cashmere."

"We all have to deal with things we don't like, Falco," I retort.

He says nothing, closing the door firmly behind him before beginning to pace around the room, a fierce scowl on his face. He doesn't say even one word.

"What's wrong with you?" I ask.

"What's wrong with me?" he repeats, his voice harder than I've ever heard it. "What do you think is wrong with me?"

"I don't know if you don't tell me."

He doesn't speak, he just keeps pacing. I don't know what to say so I say nothing. I watch him until he eventually stops in front of my chair.

"If I could stop this then I would," he says.

"And do what? Send me back to my father? Move me into the room next door to Astoria? I'd choose the arena every time and you know it."

At first I think he's going to finally explode in a fit of rage, but he takes a deep breath and replies calmly, with such sadness that I can barely bring myself to look at him in case it makes me fall apart in a way I had promised myself I wouldn't even contemplate doing.

"I'm scared and I feel out of control for the first time in years," he says. "It's not a nice feeling and I don't like it."

"You don't like it? I'm the one being thrown into the arena, Falco, not you."

"Do you want to know the truth? Do you want to know what scares me more than anything?" he asks, continuing before I have chance to respond. "What scares me is that if they said I could take your place then I would. I am too selfish, too arrogant and far too used to possessing almost limitless authority to feel that way about another, but I can't fight it. I would do anything to save you, Cashmere de Montfort, and yet for the first time in my life, I am powerless and there is nothing I can do."

I stare up at him, totally speechless. Gloss would laugh if he could see me. He always used to say that such a thing would never happen, that President Snow would surrender control of all Panem to a slum child from District Twelve before I was ever truly speechless, and yet here I am, gazing up at Falco, completely lost for words.

"You don't have to say anything," he whispers. "I know the way this works. I just wanted you to hear it, whether you believe me or not."

"I believe you," I reply quietly as he sits on the sofa beside me, staring unseeingly out of the window. "I think I've always believed you, even when I've tried not to."

He puts his arms around me, pulling me tightly to his side. I throw my arm across his chest and grip a handful of his no doubt extortionately priced shirt in my firmly clenched fist.

"It seems so close now. It seemed so simple to start with. Volunteer, win the Games, go home to Gloss and forget that it ever happened, but now it doesn't. I didn't expect to feel so afraid. Has it worked? Will I have enough sponsors? Will that even make a difference?"

"Don't think about that," he replies fiercely. "That's my job and I won't fail you. I need you to not fail me. Don't drop your guard, don't trust anybody or anything, and don't ever stop fighting."

I nod and he squeezes me tighter, turning to kiss the top of my head. I curl up closer to him, wishing the world would stop for long enough for me to gather my thoughts and get a grip. I'm not supposed to be doing this. I'm supposed to be strong and fearless, certain of my victory, not sitting here clinging to Falco like he can save me from the future I chose for myself. I bet Dahlia isn't behaving like this. She's probably sitting upstairs trying to decide who she's going to kill first.

Eventually I feel composed and in control of myself enough to speak, so I take a deep breath and pull away from him just enough so I can look up into his eyes.

"Will you tell Gloss that I'm sorry. If…if something happens to me, tell him I love him more than anything and I never meant to hurt him." He goes to speak and I know he's going to tell me that it won't happen, that I will come back and be able to tell Gloss myself. "No, Falco. Please. Promise me. I ask nothing else of you."

He stares at me for what feels like all eternity and then inclines his head. "I promise."

"And make sure he gets this," I continue, lifting the sapphire pendant that had been passed to me as I left the stage earlier this evening. "Don't let the Review Board see it for a third time."

"If it's in my power to stop it then I will."

I smile grimly. "Thank you. I-"

"Don't even think about saying goodbye," he interrupts. "I don't want to hear it." He pulls me even closer to him until I am practically on his lap, holding me like he's never going to let go. "I don't want to hear about you not coming back and what you want me to tell your brother. You have to promise me you'll live."

"I don't think I can do that. Sapphire promised me and you know the end of that story."

"I need to hear you say it."

"I can't," I reply weakly, hearing the tears I refuse to shed clearly in my voice.

He doesn't speak again, he just holds me against him so my head rests on his chest. I can hear his heart beating and it must be that slow, steady rhythm that eventually lulls me to sleep.

* * *

"Cashmere. Cashmere, wake up. It's time."

I open my eyes to see the pale first light of dawn shining in through the huge window and Felix's anxious face staring down at me. I look around for Falco even though I instinctively already know that he has gone. When I sit up, I feel the black suit jacket that had been covering me like a blanket fall from my shoulders to pool in my lap. It's the only visible sign that he was here at all.

"Where-"

Felix shakes his head and smiles wryly. "The last time I saw him, he was staring into the bottom of a glass of something very alcoholic in one of the all-night bars on the other side of the City Circle. We…had a bit of a…heated discussion about what drowning his sorrows in drink is going to do for your chances in the arena and eventually he saw reason. He's on his way to the Control Room via his apartment, or at least he was."

I cringe at the thought of them fighting or arguing, and I try to fight the hurt I feel because he didn't stay until I left. Then I picture myself having to walk away from him now and I understand why he did it. He didn't want to say goodbye and I don't either. This way is painful but it's a lot easier than the alternative.

"He…said some things to me that he probably didn't mean. I-"

Felix laughs humourlessly, interrupting me. "Oh, he meant them, Cashmere. You know how long I've known him. He never said a word he didn't mean when he was a boy and he hasn't changed now he's a grown man."

I stare up at him for a minute as that truly settles in. He really meant it. I had thought at the time that he did, but when I woke to find him gone, I began to doubt. Now in a way, I wish my doubts remained, and above all, I wish I thought he felt them too.

"Don't let him do anything that he may be forced to regret later. If this ends badly for me then tell him…tell him whatever you have to tell him to get him to forget I ever existed."

Felix shakes his head once more. "He'll fall in love with Astoria before he forgets you," he says, then after a brief pause he shrugs his shoulders and runs his hand through his hair in that way that makes it stand on end. He holds his other hand out to me. "We have to go to the roof now. They will be waiting."

"The roof?"

"To meet the hovercraft," he replies softly.

"Oh," I say, sounding much too young and much to frightened to sound like myself at all.

I put Falco's jacket on, pulling it tightly around my shivering body before taking Felix's hand. This is it. The waiting is over.

I take a deep breath and step forwards. It's far too late to turn back now.

**That's the last chapter before the arena then ;) If you've read this far then please leave me few words/predictions for the arena etc. just so I know there is someone out there! I'm starting to miss my old story, 'Love is a Battlefield', because a lot of people used to 'talk' to me when I was writing that one... Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/favourited any of my stories though - you make this currently very stressed girl smile :) **


	10. Chapter 10

**You can get on with the actual story in a minute but I just want to say thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - it's nice to have people talking to me again and I'd love it if you did the same for this one :) **

**So...is it stupid to be nervous about posting a chapter? This is the first time I've created my own arena and I'm hoping people don't hate it ;)**

Chapter Ten

It didn't take very long to reach the arena. I thought it would take a long time, as every year, no matter what the arena looks like, it always looks so very different from the world I know. However my Hunger Games reality was very different. It actually felt like as soon as Felix and I were lifted up to the hovercraft from the Training Centre roof, they were lowering us down into the underground Launch Room so I could prepare for the Games to begin.

I rub the still painful spot on my arm where the man on the hovercraft injected my tracker, scowling at the small red mark that mars my pale skin before looking up at Felix for what feels like the hundredth time since we got here. I'm glad it's him. I'm glad he's the last person I will see before I have to face the arena. He hasn't said a lot, but his presence is comforting, and I'm so relieved I'm not alone.

"I should get this over with then," I say eventually, pushing away my untouched plate of food. "I hope it's not too cold in there."

Then I laugh humourlessly in response to my own words. What does that matter? I don't think I'll be giving the temperature much thought when I'm fighting for my life, and though I still don't regret my decision to race for the stage on that day in the square, a day which feels so very long ago and so very recent at the same time, I can feel my heart racing. The fear I feel inside now I am finally here is so much greater than I ever dreamed it would be. I wonder if Sapphire felt the same this time last year? She always seemed so fearless, but then apparently to many people, so do I, and I can say with total certainty that even if I would never admit it to anyone, inside I am afraid.

More to distract my mind and occupy my hands than for any deeper reason, I reach down onto the table and lift the pile of plain black fabric from its centre. I slowly unfold it and then look questioningly over at my stylist.

"What's this?" I ask, staring down at the simple black sleeveless top and matching trousers that now lie across my lap.

"Your clothes for the arena. It's time for you to change now."

"I would ask you who designed them but I don't think design is really something that mattered all that much to whoever created these," I reply petulantly, disappointed that the clothes reveal nothing about the arena. "And black really isn't my colour," I continue, trying to joke about a situation that isn't at all funny.

As ever, Felix seems to see right through what I'm doing, I can tell by the look in his eyes, but he doesn't comment.

"You'll be wearing your Victory Ceremony outfit soon, Cashmere. I've never designed better."

I smile, grateful for his vote of confidence, and then immediately scoop the thin cotton fabric up as I head to the bathroom before my emotions get the better of me. I quickly shower and dress before standing to stare at my reflection in the mirror. I carefully pull my hair away from my face, tying it tightly back, but a second later I take it down again so my golden curls frame my face and cascade down over my shoulders once more. They have to still see the girl in the sparkling red dress when they look at the one who stands at the Cornucopia dressed in black. That is what will save me. That might be the only thing that can save me.

"Cashmere, are you ready?" calls Felix from the other side of the door.

"Not really," I whisper under my breath as I reach down to pull on the soft, calf-length leather boots I had picked up at the same time as my clothes. I take a step forwards and the soles scrape slightly on the hard stone floor.

"Cashmere?"

"Yes, I'm coming out now," I reply as I raise the sapphire pendant to my lips before running my fingers through my hair and turning away from the mirror for the last time.

I open the door to face Felix just as the announcement booms out across the room, telling us to prepare for launch. He looks like he hasn't slept for days.

"Still beautiful, I see," he says, smiling almost grimly, like he is the one going into the arena instead of me.

"I'm counting on it," I reply just as grimly as I cross the room to stand on the metal plate that will shortly raise me up into the arena.

We stare at each other in silence until the plate begins to rise up. Then he suddenly reaches for my hand, squeezing it tightly until the clear cylinder which surrounds the platform cuts us off from each other.

"I saw him on the roof before we left. He said to tell you to never forget that the sun always shines," he calls out just as he vanishes from sight.

I close my eyes as the platform keeps rising, trying to stop myself from getting dizzy. It seems to take forever, making me think that I must have been a lot deeper underground than I thought. The sun always shines? What does that mean? Why would I think it wouldn't? Why would I think about it at all?

Then I open my eyes and see the arena. At that moment I understand exactly what his words meant.

* * *

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games begin!"

Claudius Templesmith's voice booms out as soon as our metal plates click into place, signalling the beginning of the sixty second countdown to the start of the Games. I'm not thinking about that though. I can't think about that when all I can think about is the room I'm standing in. It looks like a place taken straight out of my worst nightmares, and what little part of me which is still capable of rational thought soon realises I am trembling on my platform, most likely looking nothing like the fearless volunteer everyone thinks I am.

The first thing I notice explains Falco's words perfectly, for it is clear that while I am trapped in here, I will have no idea if the sun still exists, never mind if it's shining. There are no windows, no visible daylight at all, just a small number of ancient-looking artificial lights which hang sinisterly down from the ceiling. They swing slowly back and forth even though there isn't even the vaguest hint of a breeze in the vast room.

The air is damp and stale, humid in a way that's making the thin cotton of my top cling to my skin before the battle has even started. I pull at it before I realise what I'm doing and drop my arms quickly back to my sides. I'm going to look a mess after less than a day in here, and it isn't solely my vanity that feels worried because of that particular realisation. If I look a mess then how many people are going to want to sponsor me?

I look around the room, taking deep breaths and trying to slow my movements so the others don't see my fear, though how successful I am, I couldn't say. For a second I consider that this room could be the whole arena, but then I soon realise that it can't be. If it was then there would be nowhere for people to hide, nowhere to run. The Games would be over very quickly and where would be the fun in that for the watching audience?

I jump as the silence is broken by an almost deafening scraping noise that is quickly followed by an equally loud crash that echoes around the room. When I look around at the part of the circle of tributes I can see, I notice the young girl who I think is from District Eight struggling to regain the balance the shock made her nearly lose so she doesn't fall and activate the mines that surround her platform. She just manages it, then quickly turns to face the direction the noise came from. It came from outside the room, confirming to me that there is more arena out there than just this.

Last night, as I lay curled up against Falco on the sofa in the Training Centre, half awake and half asleep, I thought I had finally reached the decision that I was going to abandon the others and attempt to fend for myself in the arena. Now I've seen the place, I'm nowhere near as confident or certain as I was. I've never liked enclosed spaces, and I hate it here already. The thought of being alone in the bleak almost-darkness fills me with dread, and as the panic rises up inside me, I don't think I can do it. I would rather take my chances with Dahlia than wait to die a slow and painful death when my luck finally runs out with the traps I imagine are bound to be concealed in the dark corners of an arena like this.

'You have to do this, Cashmere,' I tell myself frantically. 'You have the sponsors, you can't take the risk of staying with the others no matter what tradition tells you.'

I stare straight ahead at the golden Cornucopia. I can't really miss it when it takes up half the room, a massive structure surrounded by a floor made of the same cold, hard stone as the Launch Room. There are small pools of filthy-looking water all around, and now the awful scraping has stopped, I can hear it dripping as it trickles down the metal walls. Refocusing on the Cornucopia, I can see supplies inside, but the first thing I think is that there doesn't seem to be as much as there has been in previous years. I hope that's just my panic talking.

It must be nearing the time when they will sound the gong that signals the start of the Games, but I still can't make up my mind. Should I run or should I fight? I don't know what to do, and I'm running out of time to think. I look frantically from side to side once again, and I can see only couple of doors leading off the main room, two sheets of slightly darker metal, their small silver handles the only feature which makes them stand out. They are both firmly closed, and I can't stand the thought of not knowing what lies behind them before I open them. That is assuming I can get through them in the first place. If I run for one of them straight away then there is every chance I will find myself cornered and unarmed before I even know what's happened. I need a weapon or I'll have no chance, but all of the weapons are inside the Cornucopia, and that means I have no choice but to stay.

I look to my left and see Davena, her face as expressionless as it was at the start of her interview as she stares blankly at the side of the golden horn. She looks tall and strong, her lack of training in no way detracting from that even though I doubt she would be capable of defeating me if we fought. She will kill to get back to her family, that is one thing about the girl from District Seven that I have never doubted.

Turning away from Davena, I look to my right to see a tribute I barely recognise. I think he's from District Five but that is as much as I remember and I quickly look past him, my eyes drawn to Corvinus. He stands a couple of tributes further away, appearing as fiercely intimidating as ever, the many scars that cover his arms showing clearly despite the dim and flickering light. He towers over the girl from District Three, who is visibly trembling with fear, her head spinning rapidly from side to side as she looks for a way out that will never appear. My ally from District Two's eyes meet mine for a split second and then we both look away.

I look for the rest of the Alliance, and soon see Sheen, who stands on the podium next to Corvinus. The harsh, cold expression I saw so briefly on his face that night when he found Falco and I in the dining room and discovered I'd left the Training Centre has reappeared. He looks like a different person, and something about that expression makes me shiver at the sight of him.

I can see Octavian but not Marcia, and when I look for Dahlia, I find I can't see her either. She must be on the other side of the tribute circle, hidden from my sight by the massive Cornucopia. I am trying to decide if that is a good or a bad thing when my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the starting gong, which echoes around the room as the chaos begins.

Which way should I go? Forwards or back? Left or right? I don't know. I can't think. Already I can hear tributes shouting and screaming, the sound of madly racing feet filling my mind. 'Think, Cashmere, think. You have to move.' But which way? 'Any way,' I tell myself. 'Any way that leads to me having a sword in my hand.'

That can only mean the Cornucopia so I dive off my platform, sprinting forwards like my life depends on it. My life does depend on it. I reach the entrance to the golden horn at the same time as Corvinus, a fraction of a second after Sheen, who had raced for the sword he now carries like a man possessed. I look up as my hand tightens over the hilt of a sword identical to the one I used in training, and the first thing I see is my district partner sinking his blade into the girl from District Eight as she tries desperately to flee the carnage. I stare at him as he jerks his arm back as she falls to the ground. He killed her. Just like that. My immaturely arrogant counterpart ended her life with less emotion than I have when I'm choosing a new outfit at the shops. The skilful precision in his movement is a complete contrast to the hot-headed impulsiveness I recall from training, and the terrible blank expression on his face never changes. And if he fooled me then how much else of what I believe to be true is a lie?

"Do you have a death wish, District One? Move!"

Corvinus taps my back sharply with the flat side of his blade before striding calmly into the battle that rages all around us, and I glance at him before my eyes are subconsciously drawn back to Sheen. I am watching him charge after his next target when I suddenly realise the hurried footsteps I can hear above everything else are that loud because they are coming towards me. I turn around just in time to see another tribute racing towards me.

I raise my sword without thinking, and I slash it across his neck in one swift movement. Only as he sinks to the ground do I look at his face. District Twelve. He never had a chance, the stupid boy. What did he think he was doing? He didn't even try to block my attack, he was never going to survive, and yet he charged in anyway.

The fighting continues then, and for most of the time I blindly attack anyone who comes near me. Remembering the single most rational thing Topaz ever said to me, which was his instruction not to fight District Two during the bloodbath in case we're so distracted that another tribute comes along and kills us all while we are trying to defeat each other, I stay away from Dahlia, who doesn't seem to have found any knives but is more than making do with a sword that looks very similar to mine. It isn't that hard to avoid Corvinus either, for even when I let go of all other thoughts and let the screams of the dying fill my mind and drown out my other senses, he is still the tallest and strongest tribute in the room and I somehow still recognise him.

It feels like I am fighting forever, driving my sword forwards and pulling it back, twisting one way and then jumping another less than a second later. I don't care what any of the people who have trained me in the past said, this is nothing like what I used to do at home. Nothing I did there came close to preparing me for the exhausting reality that is the first battle of the Hunger Games.

As far as I know, I don't kill again, but I can't be sure. When a few seconds pass without me having to meet the challenge of a new opponent, I look up and see Corvinus drive a dagger deep into the heart of the boy from District Five, the one who was standing on the podium next to me only a short time ago. The boy crumples to the floor, dying instantly before his killer even has time to pull his hand back. I hadn't thought Corvinus was the type to derive pleasure from torturing his victims and it seems, from what I saw there anyway, that I was right. Dahlia isn't the same though, and the screams of the girl lying at her feet continue for a long, long time before she finally falls silent.

Then as quickly as it started, it's all over. There is nobody left standing who isn't part of the Alliance, and I can count at least six dead tributes lying on the floor around the Cornucopia. It's the same every year, there are always some who think they can fight those they call the Careers for the supplies the golden horn contains. Every year, all but a very small few are wrong, and they fall before they even get near to what they risk their lives to reach.

I shake my head slightly as I see the familiar figure of the man from District Seven slumped against the side of the Cornucopia. I don't understand why he stayed. He was strong, he should have ran and come back to fight later. Then he might have had a chance. I shake my head again when I notice the direction of my thoughts. I should be glad he acted so foolishly, for he's made it one less opponent for me to defeat, and I am glad, but for the first time I also see the loss of his life for what it really is. He seemed like a good person. For a brief second, I can't help thinking that he didn't deserve his fate.

I sense somebody else coming towards me and I instinctively raise my sword again. When is this all going to end? When will the fighting stop? It doesn't look like this on the television. It all seems to be over so quickly then. In reality it feels like all eternity and it doesn't let up for a second.

"District One, it's over. District One, stop!"

I vaguely recognise Corvinus's voice but I don't trust my ears. I lunge forwards and hear the clash of metal upon metal as my sword meets another. As much as I try to resist, I'm pushed back. I have no strength left. I can't keep fighting. Is this it? Am I going to break the promise I made to Gloss on only the first day of the Games?

"District One! Cashmere! Cashmere, stop!"

Corvinus's words are a command, and when he says my name they finally register. My eyes snap back into focus and I look up into his dark eyes, backing away without lowering my sword, remembering Falco's words and not allowing myself to trust. He smirks at me, his expression no different to the one I saw in training, and casually throws his blade from one hand to the other as if testing it's weight.

"It's not time for us to be enemies yet," he says before turning away to look at the others, who stand in a loose circle in the space around the entrance to the Cornucopia.

I nod and do the same. Everyone looks at each other but nobody says a word. All I can hear is the strange clicking of the wall mounted lights, which I didn't even notice before the bloodbath started, and the steady incessant dripping of the water as it trickles down the walls to form yet more pools on the floor. The wall lights aren't nearly enough to illuminate the damp, dark and totally windowless room even with the ceiling lights that continue to sway backwards and forwards like metronomes.

Then I hear something else, and it's coming from the small figure who is huddled in the corner, barely visible in the shadows. I see her a fraction of a second before Dahlia does, and we start walking towards her at the same time.

"Please…don't. Please… I don't want to die. Just let me go home," pleads the girl shakily as I come to a standstill in front of her. She scrambles back even though there is nowhere for her to go.

"I can't let you live."

I don't recognise her. All I can see is how small she is, how very, very young. I look down at this little girl, who is alternating between begging me for something I can never give and crying out for her father to save her, and even though I know I have no choice but to kill her, I know then that I really don't want to. As I watch her trembling at my feet, the truth about what I'm doing here truly hits me for the first time. As I also realise there will be no going back now, not after what I have already done in this place, I find that the little girl isn't the only one who wants to go home.

"Have you found another one, District One?" asks Dahlia harshly, her voice so cold it makes me shiver. "Let me see her then. I'm sure the Capitol will enjoy a good show and if the noise she's making already is anything to go by then I'm sure she'll keep everyone entertained."

The girl doesn't even attempt to conceal her blind terror, and she pushes herself against the wall, her screams echoing around the vast room. I look at her but she doesn't see me. I don't think she can see anything anymore.

Dahlia's cruel words help me make the decision I really didn't want to face, and I quickly raise my sword once more. I drive it straight into the girl's heart before her mind even registers my movement and she slumps to the floor instantly. I don't have time to think about what I've done, because Dahlia swings her sword at me and I have to spin around to block her.

"If I can't have my fun with her then you're just as good. Better, actually," snarls my enemy. "You won't look so good when I'm through with you."

My eyes don't leave hers, our weapons locked together as I snarl right back at her.

"I'd bet the value of the entire Remake Centre that I'd still look more attractive than you, Dahlia."

She growls at me and jumps forward, moving quicker than I thought possible. I just manage to bring my sword around in time to block hers, but as our blades clash I feel a sharp pain in my upper arm. I hear someone yelp with pain and a second later I realise the person who made the noise was me.

Dahlia steps away before circling steadily around me as she prepares to attack again. I see she now has a knife in her other hand and that it is red with blood. I didn't see her reach for it. I don't see how she could have done. She's even more skilled than I thought, and I wonder, not for the first time, exactly how they are trained in District Two and by whom. But that isn't the point. It doesn't matter. It was always going to end like this between the two of us, and if it has to be now then I won't give in as easily as she obviously thinks I will.

She charges towards me and I step forwards to meet her, trying not to imagine the look that will surely be on Gloss's face as he watches this, the fear he must feel that last year is happening all over again. Then we both skid to a halt in response to a loud crash that fills the room.

"I thought the whole point of an alliance was that we don't fight each other until the rest are dead."

I look over to the entrance of the Cornucopia to see Sheen standing there with the huge axe he just threw to the floor to make the noise that stopped our fight lying at his feet. He is loading a belt he has obviously also found with as many weapons as he can, giving no indication that the massacre which still surrounds us affected him at all. The look on his face is different again. It isn't the look of the boy I remember from the Capitol, and it isn't even that of the one who was concentrating so intently as he waited for the Games to start. When I look into his eyes, it's like there is nothing there.

"That's seven…no, eight down and…fifteen to go then," he says casually, scanning the room and counting the fallen tributes.

"Too many got away from us," adds Dahlia as she also scans the room, looking more like she is assessing the number of weapons the Gamemakers have left us than like she is paying attention to the dead. Then she shrugs her shoulders before fastening a belt around her waist and threading her sword through it. "It doesn't matter though. It just means we get to hunt them down."

"Starting now?" asks my district partner, nodding towards the nearest door.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," replies Marcia. "We need to work out what we're going to do with the supplies first."

I look at the tall dark-haired girl from District Four, noticing how she is backing away from Sheen towards the weapons which are piled up just inside the Cornucopia even as she speaks. She's as surprised by the change in him as I am and I can tell she doesn't know how he will react to her suggestion. I'm glad she said it though, because if she hadn't then I would have had to. She's right about the supplies and if this room is anything to go by then I think we have to have a plan rather than randomly wandering off into the unknown like Sheen wants to. We might be in a loose alliance now, but there is no way I'm going to get myself killed because of one stupid boy's impulsiveness.

Sheen replies to Marcia, speaking to everyone in the room, but I don't hear a word he says and my heart skips a beat when the first cannon fires. They sound the cannons of the tributes who fall in the first battle all together when it's all over. I've always known this, I've seen them do it countless times before when I've watched the Games on the television, but they are so loud they're almost deafening. I count eight, confirming Sheen's total, but they seem to carry on forever. As I listen to them, even as I look at the massacre that surrounds me, I can't help feeling more grateful than I can say that one of them isn't for me.

"We'll sort the supplies first then," I say, looking at Corvinus in an attempt to distance myself from Marcia and not look like I am following her suggestion.

He says nothing but nods and crosses the room towards the entrance to the Cornucopia, choosing to silently support me. It isn't the first time. Octavian follows him at a distance but Dahlia doesn't move. She looks at me again and then at the girl I killed, who is still lying there against the wall. I wish they would hurry up and take her away. I can't help feeling she deserves a more dignified ending than that. She obviously has a family she loves and they are watching now. What must her father be thinking, knowing that she was calling and calling for him and there was nothing he could do to save her?

Someone is obviously thinking the same, although probably for very different reasons, because as soon as the thought forms in my mind, a loud creaking sound fills the room as the ceiling seems to slide open. I look up but am disappointed to see nothing but more grey metal. The gap that is made must have been specifically designed to be exactly the right size for the relatively tiny hovercraft that materialises in front of me, in much the same way as the metal podiums that raised us up into the arena from the Launch Rooms. Everyone stops to silently watch as the dead tributes are raised up into the craft and transported from the arena. I only breathe again when the ceiling creaks back into place once more. I had been wondering how they were going to remove the dead and it looks like they just answered my question.

"I'm going for a look around," says Sheen, interrupting my thoughts in that harsh voice that is such a contradiction to the one I am used to hearing from his lips. "Is anyone else brave enough to come with me?"

Total silence follows his question and I'm not all that surprised. Marcia continues to sort through a box she has removed from the Cornucopia, carefully not meeting his eyes, and Octavian soon starts to help her. She lets him, which is something I wasn't expecting. Corvinus meets my district partner's stare evenly before turning his back on him in an obviously calculated gesture of disrespect. Sheen isn't so sure of himself that he wants to make an issue of it, and quickly sets off towards the nearest door. As soon as he is gone, Dahlia yanks another sword from the pile in the Cornucopia and follows him. I hope they kill each other but I somehow don't think I'd be that lucky.

I walk over to the golden horn and pull out a simple black backpack, quickly filling it with food and one of the few bottles of water I can see. I look around for a water source but my heart soon sinks when I can't see one. We're not going to last long with a single bottle of water each and that means we're going to have to search for it. Knowing the Gamemakers, I dread to think what will happen when we find it.

Once I have filled my small backpack, I begin to pace around the room. I don't know why I can't keep still but I really can't. Part of me wants to stay here in case I don't like what's out there but the rest of me can't stand not knowing, my imagination creating awful images in my mind to fill the gaps caused by my lack of knowledge. I only stop when the cannon fires.

"Who was that?" asks Octavian immediately, looking nervously around the room.

"How are we supposed to know?" I snap, my claustrophobia making me tense and irritable.

"Hopefully it's your district partner," says Marcia, looking sharply at Corvinus.

"Or mine," I reply.

I quickly find that I can't decide which I would prefer. If that cannon that fired was Sheen's or Dahlia's then I'm intelligent enough to realise my chances of winning have just got a whole lot better. Even though I know better than to ask the question that Octavian did, I want it answered all the same. I wish they would hurry up and play the death recap even though I have a feeling I'm in for a long wait.

* * *

A short time later, just as I've almost worked up the courage to leave the room and find out if the rest of the arena is as horrendously dark and enclosed as it is in here, I hear light footsteps and look up to see Dahlia striding across the room towards us. She's carrying so many knives that she ends up dropping several before she reaches us. I say nothing, but after hearing that cannon, I'm disappointed to see her return. As I look around at the faces of the others, it's very obvious that I'm not the only one.

"Where's Sheen?" asks Octavian.

"Isn't he back yet?"

"Can you see him here?" I ask her, unable to resist winding her up.

"I didn't see him," she snaps, for once not rising to the bait. "He'd vanished by the time I'd left the room."

"If he can do that then we'll have to hope it was his cannon that fired, won't we?" adds Marcia. I'd never admit it but that doesn't mean I don't agree with her.

"I can take him whenever I want to," snarls Dahlia in reply, and though she seems as confident as she normally does, showing no hint of doubt, I'd still like to know if she is as shocked by his transformation as I am. Did she already know? They'd talked before the arena, I know that, because he is the only one who could have told her about me leaving the Training Centre that night which already seems so long ago, but they don't seem to be acting like allies so perhaps I was wrong.

"We should take it in turns to keep watch," says Marcia sensibly, breaking several long minutes of silence. "I think it's night time now so we should get some sleep."

I wonder how she knows that? Did the bloodbath really go on for that long? It didn't seem like it at the time.

"Fine," replies Dahlia, her voice as harsh as ever. "You, Octavian and Corvinus sleep and District One can keep watch while I watch her."

I scowl both at the prospect of sitting up with Dahlia and because she clearly thinks she's in charge and can talk about me like I'm not merely a few metres away from her. And where is Sheen? He should be back by now and if he does return then I want a word with him. I know it doesn't really matter but I am still curious enough to want to know how long he's been planning for this. Maybe he won't actually come back. Maybe that was part of the plan too, just like it would have been part of mine if I hadn't panicked at the sight of this place.

"You go to sleep," says Corvinus to his district partner, sharply interrupting my thoughts as he speaks for the first time since the bloodbath to make it clear he won't be taking orders from her. "I'll keep watch now. I'd rather be the one who sleeps with District One."

I look from him to her and back again, quickly realising from the look on his face that I'm not the only one who finds it amusing to antagonise Dahlia. It shouldn't be funny but I can't help laughing. The expression on the face of the girl from District Two is priceless.

"No offence," I say to her in a false, sickly-sweet voice, "but I'm inclined to agree with him."

I get up and cross the front of the Cornucopia to sit beside Corvinus. He moves over slightly so I too can lean back against the golden horn but he says nothing. Dahlia snarls and throws a couple of the knives to the floor before immediately thinking better of it and picking them up again, but I can tell she senses that it's too early on to make an issue of it now.

A very short time later I jump slightly when the first chords of the anthem start to boom around the room, seeming to come from nowhere. They are quickly followed by the appearance of a projection of the Capitol seal on the wall opposite where I sit. The death recap. I'd forgotten about it until now.

"Eight we know and one we don't," says Marcia.

I wait with something I would probably call morbid anticipation for the first tribute to be shown, and when the boy from District Three's face appears, my heart sinks as I realise my district partner lives. The boy is quickly replaced by the little girl I killed, her black eyes seeming to stare straight at me. I know I will remember those eyes for the rest of my life. She is quickly followed by the boys from Five and Seven, both from Eight, the boy from Nine and the girl from Ten, and then finally both from Twelve. I try not to look into the eyes of the boy I killed. One face haunting my dreams is enough.

"So who was it who just died?" asks Octavian, looking confused and far too young to talk of such things so casually.

"The one from Eight," answers Corvinus immediately.

"I thought Sheen-"

"Where's your district partner?" snaps Dahlia, glaring at me as she cuts across the boy from Four, who quickly falls silent.

"How should I know?" I reply immediately. "What he does is nothing to me."

She opens her mouth to speak again but doesn't get the chance.

"Shut it and go to sleep or I'll silence you forever," growls Corvinus from his position at my side.

It's a struggle to stop myself from backing away, such is the ferocity of his voice and the aggression that almost seems to radiate from him. It isn't just an idle threat and I can tell she sees that too.

"I was only saying," she snarls back. "If he can kill like he did then we need to either know where he is or hunt him down and kill him."

"Well, that proves there's a first time for everything, District Two," I say. "I never thought I'd ever agree with you about anything, but about that, I do."

She pushes past me and fetches a thin, black sleeping bag from the Cornucopia, before taking it back across the room, lying it on one of the few patches of floor that isn't covered in pools of water and then sitting down on it without getting inside. I can't say that I blame her. It's so humid and damp in here that it's almost unbearable.

"If he doesn't return soon then he'll be the first one we hunt tomorrow," she says.

I nod without speaking and I feel Corvinus's slight movement as he does the same. It seems my award-winning actor of a district partner is actually helping me for once, because he seems to be uniting my enemy and I in a way I didn't think would ever be possible. I'm not foolish enough to think it will last, but while we have him to think about, she has a greater priority than me and I have a greater priority than her.

"Two hours and then we swap," she says, slowly and deliberately drawing a knife from her belt so both her district partner and I can see, before shifting further down the sleeping bag and lying down. "And just so you know, I'm a very light sleeper."

She doesn't speak again after that, and I look to the other side of the room to see that Marcia has settled down to sleep as well, with Octavian a short distance away from her. From the body language of all three sleeping tributes, I would say that the boy from Four is the only one who looks relaxed enough to be truly asleep.

I spend what I judge to be the next half an hour staring at the blank grey metal wall, listening to the steady trickle of water that never seems to cease. I'm strangely glad of it, because it is that irritating that it seems to be keeping me awake. I hear nothing else. There are none of the creepy scraping sounds I heard earlier while I was waiting for the gong to sound and no more cannons have fired. At some point, Corvinus turns around slightly to face away from me and I immediately do the same so I can lean back against him instead of the painfully hard side of the Cornucopia.

"Are you working with him?" he asks, and I jump at the sound of his deep voice in the silence. If he notices then he doesn't comment.

"Who?"

"You know who."

"No," I reply, pausing when I remember to keep my voice down. "No, I'm not," I continue in a hushed whisper. "We trained separately the whole time. For what it's worth, I think he hates me more than any other tribute in here."

He turns to look at me, and his sudden movement pushes me to the side so I fall back, my shoulder hitting the side of the golden horn.

"You're very convincing, little ally, but I'm not sure I believe you when I know how good an actress you are."

I go to stand up but he pulls me back down. I brush his hands off me sharply and try again, this time managing to rise to my feet. "Believe what you like. If he comes back then you'll see the truth. I was as surprised as you were and I'm not working with him."

"We'll see," he says, but he sounds more convinced than he did. I look down into his dark eyes with the complete confidence of one who is speaking the truth and he shrugs his broad shoulders. "Where do you think you're going anyway? We've got another hour and a half of this and I'm not spending it leaning against a metal wall."

Even as I sigh quietly with mock exasperation and sit back down again, I can feel tears welling up in my eyes and a lump forming in my throat. Corvinus might be Gloss's total opposite in virtually every way, but what he said then sounded so much like something my brother would say that I have to fight to control my emotions. It is suddenly a struggle to connect my brain to my body enough to make myself move, and so I'm grateful when my ally pushes my shoulder to turn me around, allowing me to regain the composure I doubt he even knew I'd lost as I lean back against him.

I bring my hand up to grasp my district token tightly, running my thumb repeatedly over the smooth surface of the vivid blue gem it contains. I wonder what Gloss is doing now. Is he watching me? I suppose he must be. There are only certain parts of the programming that are mandatory viewing in the districts, but they televise the Games twenty-four hours a day, and I remember how my brother and I sat on the sofa in his bedroom last year, watching Sapphire even as she slept. It hurts me to think of how he is all alone this year, but that thought makes me all the more determined as well. It makes me determined to keep the promise I made to return to him in a way that Sapphire wasn't able to. He is my little brother and he is relying on me. I can't let him down.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Over an hour later Corvinus and I hear the sound of approaching footsteps and rapidly jump to our feet, me a fraction of a second ahead of him. We simultaneously draw our swords instantly, and when I turn to the side to look at Dahlia, she is already up and has a knife in each hand. I didn't see or even hear her move. I sense a movement behind me and spin around to see Marcia quickly rise to her feet, completely alert in a matter of seconds. Until his district partner kicks him, Octavian stays asleep.

We had left the closest door open, so a shadow appearing on the wall is the first visible sign I get of the source of the noise, and a second later I hear Sheen's voice as he steps into the room.

"It's me," he calls. "District Eight's dead."

I lower my sword but I don't return it to my belt, feeling more than a little disappointment that my district partner came back. Considering how much of my life has been spent attempting to work out people's hidden intentions and motives, I can't believe I was so easily fooled. I still can't believe I fell for his act without question.

He says nothing as he throws his bag to the floor and takes an apple from one of the boxes we had been sorting through earlier. Then he looks at me and as he does, I realise I've almost dropped my guard and that my thoughts must be written all over my face. The lights flicker, illuminating his face one second and throwing it into shadow the next. I shiver despite the heat in here.

"Had you fooled, didn't I, Butterfly?" he taunts, making me forget everything but the sudden rage that fills me completely.

I step forwards, rapidly swapping my sword to my left hand and slapping him across the face with my right. Part of me wants to kill him, even just because of one mocking word, but I make myself resist. It's too early in the Games to split the Alliance and I have a feeling that is what would happen if we started to fight and really meant it. The sound echoes around the room long after my arm has returned to my side.

"Eavesdropping and spying again, Sheen? I don't care if you can fight, I don't think you had to act that much to convince everyone you're nothing but an arrogant, immature little boy."

He doesn't reply to that, he simply stands there staring coldly at me, and now the lights finally remain on and I can see clearly, the vivid red mark my hand left behind on his face is a stark contrast against skin as pale as mine. I stare back, neither of us moving until eventually he backs away. I notice he moves in Dahlia's direction when he does, but I also notice that her harsh expression doesn't change.

"It's your watch," I tell him harshly, suddenly feeling tired of playing games no matter what I had decided a couple of minutes earlier. This is the Hunger Games, there's no room for manners here.

"Whatever," he replies, heading towards the girl from District Two but abruptly thinking better of it when he sees the fierce glare she sends in his direction. "The whole arena's like this, you know. Like a giant warehouse with lots of corridors and small rooms."

"How many floors?" asks Corvinus, remaining as practical as ever.

"Two that I saw. I think there are stairs that go down as well though, but District Eight didn't go that way," he finishes meaningfully.

Which explains why it took so long for the platforms to rise up from the Launch Room. I've watched a lot of recordings of past Games and it never seemed to take as long as it did for me. I had thought it was just the fact that I was living through it rather than watching it on a screen, but Sheen's words indicate that there was more to it than that.

Neither man speaks after that, so I cross back to the Cornucopia and sit down again. It's my turn to sleep, but how I'm going to manage that in this place, with it's incessant noises and with Sheen and Dahlia merely a few metres away, I have no idea. I don't have much choice though, as I'm not stupid enough to think I can survive my time in the arena with no sleep at all.

With that thought in mind, I draw my sword from my belt, resting my hand over the hilt as I curl up on the hard stone floor. I quickly draw my knees up to my chest and shuffle so I can put my back to the Cornucopia. Gloss always told me to do it because it will reduce the chance of a wound being fatal if someone were to attack me in my sleep, and thoughts of self-preservation aside, I want desperately to show him I listened to what he said.

"We'll have to move tomorrow or they'll make us," says Corvinus in a low voice as he settles down a short distance from me.

I raise my head and turn in his direction before nodding in understanding. He nods in return without looking away, and I can't help staring back, my eyes drawn to the nasty looking gash which runs down the left side of his face. It's the only visible injury he seems to have, and while I have no idea what I'm doing, I know there's a first aid kit in the Cornucopia because I used it to patch up my arm where Dahlia cut me.

"Do you want me to look at that?" I whisper quietly.

He shakes his head and smirks. "It's fine, I'll do it later. I don't mind it. We match now."

Initially I think he means Sheen, who now also bears a mark in the same place, but then I realise almost immediately from his tone of voice that he doesn't.

"If I ask then you won't tell me, will you?"

He shakes his head again. "Go to sleep, Cashmere."

I roll my eyes at him before lying back down, knowing then that his words were most likely not for me at all, but for someone who is a long way from this arena.

I didn't think I would be able to sleep and I didn't, at least not like I would normally. I dozed lightly, half waking up at even the slightest noise, and I woke fully when I heard Dahlia and Sheen change watch with the pair from District Four. However, I must have slept eventually because the next thing I know after that is the feel of something tapping my shoulder.

I jump up immediately, my sword raised before I've even got to my feet, but then I focus and realise it's only Corvinus waking me. It must be morning, though how anyone can tell, I have no idea. I look around the room, and upon seeing Marcia by the Cornucopia, smirking at my reaction as she sorts through the supplies, I realise she has appointed herself as our official timekeeper. She looks away from me when she sees I'm looking at her, turning her attention back to my district partner, who is wide awake and doing more than his fair share of the supply sorting.

"If I'm the one who has to wake you, District One, then I think I'll see if there's a bell in the Cornucopia. Are you that violent every morning?" says Corvinus, drawing my focus back to him. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he's only teasing me.

"Shut up, _District Two_," I retort immediately, grinning back at him. "It's not like you'll ever find out."

"I don't know what those watching back home will think about you two," interrupts Dahlia, and Corvinus's smirk is immediately replaced by a vicious glare which is all for his district partner.

"They'll see it for what it is, and you'll never convince me otherwise so don't waste your time trying."

"Are we dividing the supplies then?" interrupts Marcia, who hasn't moved from her position by the golden horn. "We can't leave them here."

"I don't think there's much to divide," I reply, not wanting to involve myself in a conversation with a girl I have sworn to kill, but at the same time not wanting to get in the middle of a fight between Corvinus and Dahlia either, especially one that is clearly about something I have no knowledge of.

"We should put it in the bags and carry it with us. Then nobody has to be on guard duty," suggests Sheen, who still stands by Marcia's side.

I walk over to them, Corvinus following closely behind me, before looking down at the piles of food, first aid supplies and weapons. It looks even worse than I thought it would.

"The food will last us a few days, a week if we don't eat much," says Corvinus as he joins me in scrutinising what little the Gamemakers have left for us. "Maybe it really will be the _Hunger _Games this year."

I shake my head. "There's no water supply in here either. There must be one somewhere or it would all be over far too quickly."

"And if there wasn't then they wouldn't have left these," says Octavian, looking shocked at his own daring as he speaks for the first time in what seems like forever. He holds out some small bottles of what appears to be water purifier and looks speculatively down at the pools of stagnant water that surround us.

"I'm not drinking that," I say immediately. "I doubt there's a purifier strong enough to stop it from killing instantly."

"Do you have a better idea?" he replies, once again seeming so very young as he obviously sulks because his idea was rejected.

I sigh deeply, remembering Corvinus's words from last night and knowing he spoke the truth. The Gamemakers won't let us stand around in here doing nothing very interesting for much longer so we might as well search for water as well as the other tributes.

That doesn't mean I want to leave the perceived security of this room though. The clanging and scraping has started up again, and the wall lights have started their almost menacing flickering. Ashamed though I am to admit it even to myself, the thought of exploring this place fills me with fear.

"We're going now," snaps Dahlia. "I'm sick of waiting around."

She pushes past Marcia and Octavian, who say and do nothing in response, and quickly begins to zip up the packs that my district partner had loaded the supplies into.

Everyone takes one, and as I swing the one that Sheen pushed in my direction onto my back, my shoulders sink immediately. It's so heavy, and that's when I've only just put it on. Combined with the bag I had taken for myself last night that contains the only bottle of water I have, I don't think I'll be walking very far. The thought of not being able to run makes me so afraid that I almost put the bag down again. 'Don't do anything that will stop you from being able to run away, Cash,' that's what Gloss told me, and his words repeat over and over again in my mind, mixing in with Falco's confident reassurance that I have more than enough sponsors for him to be able to help me, making me all the more tempted to leave the supplies behind. I lower the bag to the floor and Corvinus does the same, putting his bag next to mine and looking at me questioningly.

"What are you doing, District One?" snaps Dahlia.

I have never needed to long to be called by my actual name before, but I am that sick of 'District One' that I feel like screaming in annoyance. I know that we're technically all still enemies but can't we be enemies who call each other by name sometimes?

"If you can't keep up then we'll leave you behind," adds Sheen, the cold and empty smile I remember from the bloodbath reappearing on his face. "Alive if you're lucky."

I reach for my sword, knowing that any lesser reaction will only confirm my weakness in their eyes. "If you want to do this now, Little Boy, then by all means we can, but I thought you and your girlfriend were in a rush to leave."

Dahlia's snarl is satisfyingly quick to follow my comment, proving once and for all to me that she has no wish to be associated with my district partner.

"For Panem's sake, if they could see us now then the other tributes would be laughing, and I bet the Capitol is too," growls Corvinus, also drawing his sword and then gesturing violently towards the still open door. "Move!"

My district partner and his don't look happy but they do as he says and quickly head out of the room. I sigh deeply and reach for one of the straps of my bag, only for my hand to be pushed away. Corvinus smirks back at me, raising the bag up like it weighs nothing and then nodding once in the direction of the one he had been carrying. When I pick it up, I immediately notice how much lighter it is.

"Hurry up, District One," he snaps harshly before I can say anything. "Or I'll leave you behind too."

"Don't call me 'District One'," I snap back, following his lead and not mentioning what he just did for me.

"Whatever you say, Sweet Cashmere, Darling of the Capitol," he replies with a false lightness I have never heard from him before.

Any retort I have is rendered useless when he quickly disappears through the doorway and I have no choice but to follow him, uncertainty about what I will see when I do making me suddenly lost for words.

It's horrible in here. I thought what I have come to call the 'Cornucopia Room' was bad but the rest of the arena is so much worse. We've been walking around and around for what feels like hours, turning into one narrow, damp and dark corridor after another in a journey that never seems to end. After a while it began to feel like the walls were starting to close in on me, and the slightly stale air stopped making my lungs feel full so my breathing became quick and shallow. I tried to stare straight ahead of me, focussing into the distance, and that seemed to help a little, but part of me still wants to scream and run away until I can feel fresh air upon my face once again. I could cry when I remember I've only been in here for a day.

Despite the amount of time we have spent wandering around, there is no sign of either any of the other tributes or a water supply, and I can tell by looking at the others that everyone is starting to worry and run out of patience. Nobody has received anything from their sponsors yet, though whether that is because we are close to finding something or we simply don't have any, I couldn't possibly say. Logic tells me that between the six of us, we must have some sponsorship money, but then another slightly less rational part of my mind tells me that we haven't been very interesting since the bloodbath and there are a lot of other tributes still alive who could be doing anything.

As I walk slowly along in the middle of the group, trying to always keep Sheen and Dahlia ahead of me so I can watch them, I can't help wondering if Falco is watching me. I don't need water now but it won't be long before I do. Will he send me what I need like he promised? What is he thinking?

I suppose that outwardly I am doing well. I have survived the bloodbath, then become part of the Alliance in accordance with the original plan if not the revised one, and I am more or less holding my own despite being intelligent enough to realise I am technically one of it's weaker members in terms of basic fighting ability, especially since Sheen's transformation. So why do I feel so terrible? Why do I long to see just a square centimetre of daylight almost as much as I long for water? Why do I see the face of the little girl from District Three every time I close my eyes? Even though I haven't lost the plot so much that I fail to realise it's nothing more than an impossible dream, I want to go back home to Gloss. And if I can't do that then I want Falco to walk right into the arena and say he's going to take me away from here. Either of them would come for me if they could, I know they would.

Then I pull my shoulders back and raise my head in defiance against my own thoughts. 'You're letting this place defeat you, Cashmere,' I mentally tell myself fiercely. 'Do you think Gloss would be proud of a sister who doesn't even try? Do you think Falco wants to see you fall so deeply that he doesn't even recognise the woman he knows when he sees the pathetic creature I am turning into on his television screen?'

"We should go this way," I say, pushing myself to the front of the group and pointing down a corridor that leads in the opposite direction to the way we had been going. "I'm sure we went the other way before. We're walking around in circles."

Surprisingly, Dahlia nods in agreement, making Sheen the only one who doesn't. He remains silent as we make our way cautiously down the new corridor, until finally we turn a corner and he abruptly stops.

"Look," he breathes.

I follow the direction of his gaze to see a girl walking along, trailing her hand frantically along the wall, swapping from one side to another so rapidly that it makes me slightly dizzy just looking at her. She hasn't noticed us, her every hurried and jerky movement giving me the impression that she isn't quite with it and that this claustrophobic arena has affected her even more than it has me. She has the dark skin that is typical of District Eleven so that would make sense. One used to the open air of the agricultural district's orchards and fields isn't likely to flourish here.

I sense a sharp movement at my side and turn in time to see a knife fly from Dahlia's hand in the direction of the girl. She screams loudly when it sinks into her shoulder, looking back at us before darting away, running for her life. I can hear the pounding of her footsteps for a second before they are drowned out by those of my allies as we sprint after her.

There are many twists and turns in the corridor and so many passages leading in different directions that eventually Corvinus raises his hand and we all stop.

"Follow the blood trail," I say quickly, looking down at the dark red patches which glisten in the still flickering light, showing clearly on the stone floor.

The others nod and we move forwards again, not as quickly this time. Our echoing footsteps and the continuous dripping water are the only sounds. For once, the lights remain constant, temporarily ceasing their usual flickering. It's like the Gamemakers want us to be able to find the girl using the only method available to us.

"You're slipping, Vilani," mocks Corvinus eventually. "She's gone a long way already and she's still going."

"You saw her, she's lost it. She moved," snaps Dahlia in return. "You can shut it anyway, Rossetti. Nobody else did anything, did they? We'd have lost her completely if it wasn't for me."

"And now we've found her again," I say from my position at the front of the group, just ahead of the pair from Two.

I point at the girl, who comes into view when I look around the next corner. She is gasping for breath and leaning awkwardly against the wall, holding her injured arm, but when she sees us she immediately flees again, somehow managing to scream hysterically despite her breathlessness. Dahlia pushes roughly past me, drawing another knife as she goes, and the chase begins again.

"Why are the lights flashing again?" calls Octavian.

He is struggling a little bit to keep up, so at first I think he's trying to distract us as a way of getting us to slow down, but when I pause to look, I immediately notice that he is telling the truth. The lights are flashing and then the awful scraping noise comes again, a lot closer than it has ever been before.

Instinct makes me grind to a halt, and I'm pushed forwards as Corvinus crashes into me and Marcia crashes into him. He catches me and pulls me back to keep me upright but I barely notice. His grip on my upper arms remains almost tight enough to cut off my circulation as I watch the girl from District Eleven disappear around the next corner before the lights flicker one last time and then abruptly cease to function all together, plunging us into absolute darkness.

The scraping is replaced by a strange scratching sound, which is a lot quieter but no less terrifying. I remember how Sapphire used to drag her nails down the blackboard at school because she knew the sound made me cringe, and this sounds exactly the same. Then I hear a blood-curdling scream that echoes around us for long enough for it to be joined by the sound of the cannon that fires a few seconds later.

It's still so dark that I can see nothing, not even the faintest outline of my allies as we all scramble frantically backwards, attempting to put as much distance between us and what has happened here as possible. Whatever that actually is.

I force myself to keep my hand on the wet and surprisingly cold metal wall despite how slimy it feels and how it has tiny jagged edges that cut into my skin, knowing that it is the only way I can make sure I keep moving in the right direction, which is as far away from this part of the arena as I can. I don't know what killed that girl, I don't ever want to know, all I know is that I don't want to be next.

Octavian cries out in panic but he is immediately and very roughly told to be quiet by both Dahlia and Marcia. Somebody walks roughly into me and I instinctively duck down as I once more hear the sound of metal scraping against metal, this time much closer and on a much smaller scale, but then that person is gone and replaced by another, who grips my wrist and pulls me onwards a lot quicker than I would choose to go otherwise.

In the distance I can see a small pool of light, and this time when I turn to the side, instead of pitch black darkness, I can just about see Corvinus walking beside me. The nearest person to us is Sheen, although he quickly drops back when he sees me looking in his direction. The man from District Two pulls me forwards even quicker and up the narrow metal staircase in the direction of the pool of light that is obviously coming from the upper floor. Our feet make it clang loudly with every step we take, and I am relieved when we reach the top without the formidably heavy-looking but also very unstable-looking structure collapsing.

"It suits me to have you alive right now, Cashmere," he says in a low voice as we wait for the others to catch up, "so try to watch what you're doing."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I know Dahlia. She's as sadistic as they come, but she'll want you to look at her when she tries to kill you. I can't say the same about your district partner. You're lucky I was watching your back."

I stare at him in shock for a second, putting two and two together and realising how close I had come to having Sheen's knife in my back. "And why were you watching my back?"

"Certainly not for the reason you think," he replies with a smirk. "I told you, I need you alive because I doubt I could take the three of them down on my own."

"So you're going to use me to help you end the alliance and then you're going to kill me too?"

"I always said you were a smart girl," he replies.

"Don't patronise me," I snap back. "What makes you so sure I'm going to go along with your little plan?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

I look up at him when I realise to my disappointment that I don't, and that if I am honest then his plan for me is the same as my plan for him. I see him through different eyes as I try think of a way I could kill him when the time comes for us to fight, and I am surprised to find that I don't like the thought. What is wrong with me? I have known what the Hunger Games is since I was a tiny child, so why am I finding it so hard to contemplate doing what I know I have to do?

"There's plenty of time to think of that," he says softly just as Dahlia appears on the staircase, looking at it as warily as I imagine we did, walking as quickly and as lightly as she can until she reaches the top.

I pull my water bottle from my bag and drink the last of it. It isn't nearly enough, especially when I look around to see the others doing the same.

"Look!" shouts Octavian, far too loudly if you ask me, as he points up at the direction of the ceiling.

A silver parachute floats slowly down towards us, appearing far too fragile to bear the large package it has attached to it. It lands centimetres from my feet so I hastily unwrap it to find another six water bottles. Falco. I knew he wouldn't let me down, and if I didn't then I hate myself for doubting him. I look straight ahead of me, hoping there is a camera focussed on my face.

"Thank you," I breathe.

The others are all staring at me with jealous eyes and I stare right back at them. I know it's wrong of me but I can't help enjoying this moment. This time I am the strong one, I am the one with the support from the audience, and I am determined not to let them forget it.

I can't carry all this with me so I immediately realise I will have to share it. There is enough for a bottle each, and I'm sure Falco did that deliberately, for while Lace and Topaz might be my mentors, there is no question in my mind as to who is behind this gift. There is a level of cunning intelligence behind it that neither of my district's past victors are capable of.

Even if I share it then it is still mine, and every time the others drink they will remember that. Sheen will think twice about turning on me if, via my sponsors, I am the only source of water, and Dahlia isn't stupid so she will too. I know it's only a matter of time before we find water in here, but until we do my place in the group is now assured. Unless the others have sponsors of their own, of course, but I haven't seen any evidence of that yet.

"There's enough for one each," I say, not allowing my calculating expression to change as I take a bottle for myself.

The others take the remaining bottles as I knew they would. Wherever it comes from, they can't survive without water and they know it. It doesn't mean they like it but they have the sense not to refuse. However I can tell from the expressions on the faces of Sheen, Corvinus and Dahlia that they don't miss what I'm doing for a second.

We eventually realise that we can't stay at the top of the staircase forever, so we silently agree to head off down the corridor. The wall around the staircase isn't enclosed, forming a kind of balcony so that the floor below can be seen from above, and as much as I try, I find it almost impossible to stop myself from staring down into the impenetrable darkness. In reality I can hear nothing, but despite knowing that, I am almost convinced that I can still hear the girl screaming.

Then the balcony abruptly ends and becomes a solid wall once more. It is still made of the same cold, grey metal, but it is dry up here and a lot less humid than downstairs. I shiver and rub the bare skin of my arms, walking a bit faster in a futile attempt to get warm again.

"That doesn't happen very often," says Sheen, breaking the silence suddenly from the front of our group.

"What doesn't?" asks Marcia.

"She won't go on anyone's kill list but the arena's, will she?" he replies, referring to how the Gamemakers usually prefer to only allow the tributes to be killed by other tributes.

"I told you, she'd lost it, that's why," says Dahlia harshly. "She barely would have known the difference between us and whatever it was that killed her so it didn't matter."

Brutal though her words are, I can see the girl from District Two speaks the truth so I say nothing. We keep walking along the seemingly never-ending corridor, passing a number of doors as we go. Some of them have clear glass windows set into them and others don't, but they are all firmly closed without exception.

"We can't walk forever," says Marcia eventually. "We should stop to rest and eat something before we start again."

She cautiously pushes open one of the doors without a window, keeping as much distance from it as she can and looking like she is ready to jump back and flee at a split second's notice. However nothing happens, the door simply swings open to reveal a totally empty room which is about the size of the room I slept in back in the Capitol. As I peer inside, realising quickly that the similarities end abruptly after the size comparison, I can almost hear the collective sigh of relief.

The others all go inside, some more tentatively than others, but I wait for them and then sit down in the doorway, leaning my back against one side and pulling my knees up to my chest so I can rest my feet on the other. I can remember Falco telling me to always have an escape route planned as clearly as if he was standing beside me, which is probably more than a little wishful thinking on my part, and while I think he was talking about avoiding people he doesn't like at parties at the time, I don't think he will blame me for applying the same principle here. The room has no other door that I can see, and even though I know from recent experience that the corridors certainly aren't always a safe place to be, being where I am now seems infinitely preferable to being enclosed in there with the others.

I watch as they settle down, subconsciously forming the usual divided groups. District Four sit together as normal, Marcia looking at Octavian with an expression I can't read, one I would almost call vaguely maternal had the circumstances been different, and Sheen drops to the floor just far enough from Dahlia to be out of the reach of her sword. She ignores him as she usually does and he seems to take that as a good sign. I can't help smiling to myself when I decide that means a bad sign would probably be her trying to kill him. Corvinus sits down close to me, leaning against the wall and putting his feet up on the hated backpack that I nearly had to struggle with. I glare at him when I immediately notice that he doesn't look in the slightest bit tired.

"Do we have to get through you if we want to leave?" he asks teasingly in response to how I seem to be blocking the doorway.

I roll my eyes but say nothing, my attention suddenly drawn to the silver parachute that floats down to land at Dahlia's feet. It supports a single flask of water.

"Anything you can do, I can do better, District One," she taunts.

Enobaria. It must be her, sending both her tribute and I a message, telling us that I'm not the only one with sponsors.

"I find that impossible to believe, Dahlia," I reply, relieved to hear something of my old, familiar arrogance in my voice as I pointedly look down at myself and then across at her. "As, I'm sure, do the audience back in the Capitol."

She scowls at me, her expression telling me she wants nothing more than to throw one of her knives straight into my heart. So why doesn't she? Now she knows she has support of her own, why is she holding back? She must be taking the Career Alliance more seriously than I am, but then when I think about it like that, I also realise something else very quickly: I'm not trying to kill her either.

I look around me and try to decide how a fight would go if the Alliance broke down right now. Corvinus and I against Dahlia and Sheen, I would guess, but how District Four would fight, I have no idea. Then I think about Davena, the girl from District Nine and all the other tributes who are still alive. No, I can't do it yet and neither can anyone else. There are far too many uncertainties for that.

After it very quickly became apparent that none of us yet have any desire to break the Alliance, we decided to wait here and rest for a while, everyone seeming to be fed up of wandering around in circles. We sit in silence as if we are waiting for something to happen, but nothing does until eventually that silence is broken a few hours later by the irritatingly familiar notes of the anthem as the holographic projection of the Capitol seal appears on the far wall of the small room. As we knew would be the case already, the only photograph to appear is that of the girl from District Eleven.

"I'm going for a walk," says Corvinus as soon as the seal fades.

He stands up and walks over to where I still sit in the doorway, half inside the room and half in the corridor. He towers over me but while I know I should feel fear, for some reason, I don't. I stand up so he isn't looking down at me quite as much and meet his eyes determinedly.

"I'll come with you."

"I want to be alone."

"I'll go the other way," I hiss, refusing to be left in this room with Dahlia, Sheen and District Four.

My district partner has already tried to kill me once today and that tells me that now is as good a time as any to try to overcome my fear of this claustrophobic and enclosed space before I have no choice but to leave the Alliance and fend for myself. Corvinus nods and we leave the room, walking down the corridor side by side.

"Are you coming back?" I ask him when we reach a fork in the corridor.

He nods immediately. "I just need some space."

I stare at him, remembering both Falco and Felix telling me not to trust any of my 'allies' even though I had already worked that one out for myself a long time ago. I can see no lie in his eyes however hard I look, so eventually I turn and begin to walk away in the other direction.

"We have a deal, Cashmere. Make sure you come back too," he calls after me.

I turn back but he has already vanished. I listen for the sound of his retreating footsteps but I can't hear them. I can hear nothing but the constant and all too familiar dripping of the water down the walls. The lights flash on and off once but then remain virtually constant despite how they flicker slightly. I breathe a sigh of relief and set off down the corridor, hoping that I remember my way back. For the first time since the Games started, I am truly alone.

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed last time - I think this one explains the arena a bit more ;) Let me know what you think...**


	12. Chapter 12

**Before I let you get on with this chapter, I just want to say that I haven't read Mockingjay yet so please don't spoil it for me... I have a copy next to me and am about to start reading so I will have finished in a couple of days ;)**

**Despite not having read a word of the book yet, the single spoiler I have heard actually involves Cashmere and it was enough to make my stomach turn before I've even read it. Assume that Cashmere is ignorant of her fate while I decide if I am both brave enough and have a strong enough stomach to write any further than her Victory Ceremony...**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed - it means loads to me :)**

Chapter Twelve

One of the many problems with this place is that everywhere looks exactly the same. Every corridor, every door and even every stone that forms part of the cold, hard floor all look identical to the one before and most likely to the one after as well. Once I realised how quickly I could get lost, I tore a thin strip of fabric from the bottom of my top and began to fix a small square of the black material to the wall or around a door handle every time I turned into a new corridor or changed direction. Whatever I think of them, I don't feel ready to be away from my allies permanently yet so I need to be able to retrace my steps.

I approach the end of yet another corridor just as I realise I have no more fabric left. I look down at my top before abruptly deciding that I'm not so desperate for sponsors that I'm willing to lose any more of it and therefore that I have no choice but to go back. The passageway I am facing looks like virtually every other one I've seen, which means that the only good thing is that the lights are still on. After what happened to District Eleven, I am constantly alert, waiting to run for my life if they start to flash again, but nothing has happened so far. I shiver at the thought of what happened to that girl and hope those I love never have to witness something like that happening to me.

I am about to go back when my curiosity gets the better of me and I stop in front of a door. It is one of the ones that have windows set into them, so I am able to peer through it to see inside the room beyond. It looks much like the one Corvinus and I had left the others sitting in, the only difference being that I can see a shelf on the back wall. It seems to have several packages balanced precariously on it, but they are carefully wrapped and I can't see what they contain.

I reach for the door handle, intending to investigate further, but I immediately let go and spin back around, drawing my sword as I move when I hear a noise behind me.

I don't know what I expected to see but I soon laugh at myself when I think of how I am standing with my sword raised, fully prepared to attack, when my only adversary is the shining silver fabric of one of the Capitol parachutes. I walk the couple of steps over to it and lift it up to find a single cracker attached, carefully wrapped in some kind of clear film.

A cracker? Just one? What's the point of that when I have food in my bag? I shrug my shoulders and put it in my pocket before walking back to the door. Maybe Lace is bored and has decided to liven up her day by tormenting me.

It takes as long as it takes me to raise my hand to the door handle for the same thing to happen again. Another parachute, another cracker. I shake my head, hoping my mentor and the watching audience are amused by my confusion. Then it suddenly occurs to me that while Lace is a lot of things and she has always hated me, if she wanted to cause me harm then surely she would find a less petty and considerably more permanent way to do it. This doesn't seem her style. And why would she send me two crackers when they could go to Sheen? What is going on?

I return to the door for the third time and this time the sound of the parachute and it's contents is louder this time. An apple not a cracker.

The fourth time of trying I reach for the door but don't look at it, and sure enough, as soon as my hand touches the handle another parachute appears. I sigh and reach out to catch it before it hits the ground, detaching a second apple and putting it in my pack as I continue down the corridor away from the door.

"So I'm not to go in there then?" I say to the empty metal walls that surround me.

The rest of the packet of crackers soon appears as an answer. Falco. It must be him, but what is behind that door that is so bad he doesn't want me to go in? How does he know something bad will happen anyway? I shrug my shoulders and eat one of the apples as I walk along, following the scraps of fabric until I recognise the corridor that leads to the room where I will find the others. It's the one by the red staircase, that is the only way I can tell where I am. I look up at the ceiling and wish I could see daylight. Falco can send me as many crackers as he likes but at this precise moment I would give them all up just to see the sky.

* * *

I can hear them before I see them. The door is still wide open and from what I can tell from the raised voices that drift out to me, Dahlia and Sheen seem to be having some kind of argument. Corvinus obviously isn't back yet then. He'd never stand for the noise and he'd have long since issued them with numerous death threats if he was there.

"We should kill them both," says Sheen, and even though I can't see him, I can picture him standing there glaring around the room at the others and waiting to see if they dare to question his suggestion. "Corvinus is up to something and Cashmere's popularity makes her dangerous. If we let her live much longer then they'll send her a trident."

I shiver at my district partner's reference to Finnick Odair, the picture of him standing over Sapphire as she spends the last few seconds of her life lying at his feet, caught in the net he set as a trap, suddenly far too vivid in my mind. Then his words truly register and I don't know if I should feel happy that he considers me a threat or anxious that they are thinking about ending the Alliance already.

"It's too soon," retorts Dahlia. "I'm keeping them where I can see them and that's not going to change yet."

"You can't see them now."

Marcia. So she's awake and still there too then. I know next to nothing about her, mostly out of choice, but she must be feeling brave and not entirely lacking in confidence if she's willing to answer back to Dahlia like that. I know I should join them but I grew up in a place where knowledge is power and knowledge that another doesn't know you possess is worth even more. Old habits die hard and I'm not in a rush to stop their conversation.

"They'll be back," she says with all her usual certainty and confidence. "They think it's too early to split as well."

"They've left their bags," says Octavian, finally getting a word in.

Dahlia laughs coldly. "So they have," she replies before continuing in a very different tone of voice. "It didn't work, did it? She didn't have to carry that bag."

"It proved they're working together though, didn't it?" Sheen retorts immediately, neatly confirming to me that it wasn't coincidence that made the bag he offered me the heaviest as he desperately attempts to avoid her wrath and derision.

"For now. It won't last. Rossetti wants to go home and I know he won't fall for your self-obsessed district partner, whatever she thinks."

Self-obsessed? I don't know how she can say that when she doesn't know the first thing about me. And what is it with everyone anyway? There is absolutely nothing between Corvinus and I, and I have never tried to change that. It might have been a vague part of my plan at the very beginning, but from the first time we met I knew inside that it wouldn't work. He didn't and still doesn't look at me like most people do. We are allies who could even be called friends, but each is using the other and we both know it.

Taking a deep breath as I eventually realise I can't stand out here forever, I step forward to stand in the doorway, hoping to portray a casual nonchalance I really don't feel by leaning against the side of the doorframe as I finish the second apple. It is immediately obvious that they had no idea I was there.

"I see they still love you then," says Marcia, who is the first one to notice my reappearance.

"Of course," I reply immediately, flicking my hair and straightening my back for the cameras I know are there even if I can't see them.

"I was hoping for a cannon to fire but it obviously isn't my lucky day," says Dahlia, looking away from Sheen to focus her almost black eyes on me.

I shake my head in mock sadness. "I'm so sorry to disappoint you, Dahlia, but as you can see, I'm very much alive."

She glares at me. "Did you see any of the other tributes?"

"No," I reply. "I didn't see anyone once Corvinus and I went our separate ways. This place is huge and everything looks the same."

"They'll have to do something to bring us together soon," says the girl from Two after a couple of minutes thought. "I don't see how so many people can hide in a building."

"We haven't been downstairs to the basement yet," adds Octavian in an almost hopeful tone of voice as he looks at Dahlia. I get the impression that he isn't seeking opponents to kill but the approval of his ally.

"Maybe we should," she replies, looking across at him with the closest thing to a true smile I have ever seen on her chronically cold and emotionless face.

"Should what?" asks a familiar voice from behind me just before Corvinus pushes me out of the doorway and into the room so he can take my place. "And what have I told you about watching your back?" he hisses, this time his words for me alone.

"I knew it was you," I retort immediately, trying to convince myself as much as I am trying to convince him.

He raises his eyebrows sceptically but he doesn't question me further. "Should what?" he repeats.

"Go down to the lower floor," answers Dahlia.

"The others will be getting hungry by now," he replies. "They won't stay hidden for long."

"There are rooms with supplies inside," I say. "Didn't you see any?"

He pauses before answering by shaking his head.

"Where are the supplies then?" interrupts Sheen harshly.

"I didn't get them. I…something told me not to go in there. I don't know why."

"I do. You were scared, weren't you, District One?" taunts Dahlia.

"I'll show you where it is if you like," I snap back. "I'll even hold the door open for you."

Part of me hopes she takes me up on my offer, as the more I think about it the more convinced I become that something bad would have happened to me if I had gone into that room. I don't think the parachutes were Lace's way of tormenting me, I think they were sent to keep me out of harm's way, and as much as I don't want to kill even an enemy like Dahlia, I would do it to survive and the time when I have to act will come sooner or later anyway so maybe it would be better sooner. However she isn't so easily fooled and I am quickly disappointed.

"Why should I follow your lead?" she retorts. "You're up to something, District One, I know it."

"This is the Hunger Games, Dahlia, we're all up to something."

* * *

The same routine has continued endlessly for the past three days, which we seem to have spent the duration of walking along endless corridors searching for tributes who seem to have vanished without a trace. In all that time, only one cannon has fired and that was some time this morning. We will have to wait until the death recap later to find out who it was because their death was nothing to do with us. Maybe this horrific place has claimed another victim.

"Who's left apart from us?" asks Sheen eventually, becoming the first person to speak since the cannon fired many hours ago.

"A lot of tributes," answers Dahlia sulkily, clearly overtired and highly disappointed that her remaining opponents are proving so illusive.

"There are seven left," says Corvinus, sounding totally confident even though I have no idea if he's right. I lost track some time on the day of the bloodbath.

"How can you be so sure?" asks Sheen.

My district partner is obviously trying to sound like his usual cold, aggressive self but isn't quite managing it when faced with the man from District Two. It amuses me to see that despite what can only be described as his total personality shift, he still isn't as fearless as he would want to be, however much he tries to hide it.

"Eight in the bloodbath, six of us, that cannon from this morning, you killed District Eight and we all saw and heard what happened to District Eleven," replies Corvinus in a bored tone of voice, sounding like he is explaining the simplest of concepts to an unusually stupid child. "There were twenty-four to start with so I think even you will eventually be able to work out that leaves seven left," he continues, completing what could possibly be the longest string of words I have ever heard him link together.

Sheen scowls at him, especially when the others, even Dahlia, laugh at his comment. The man I have come to think of as my ally smirks back, not in the slightest bit intimidated.

"We can't walk endlessly around," he continues. "We should set up a camp somewhere so we don't have to carry the supplies around. Then we'll be able to move around quicker."

"We should go back to the Cornucopia," I suggest, remembering the massive room and deciding it's got to be better than yet another narrow and claustrophobic corridor.

He nods and heads off in the opposite direction to the way we had been walking, clearly expecting everyone to follow him. He isn't disappointed, and a short time later he leads us through a doorway and I find myself facing the golden horn once again. We quickly look around but there is no sign of any of the other tributes.

"Put all the bags by the entrance and then we'll go out again," instructs Dahlia. "You can guard them, District One."

"Why me?" I ask, turning to glance at Corvinus, who nods almost imperceptibly.

"Because I'm fed up of you. And someone's got to do it."

"Whatever," I reply indifferently. "The prospect of a few hours without having to look at you sounds good to me."

"Just hope the lights stay on," she retorts, and it's a struggle for me to suppress a shiver, her words making my whole body turn ice-cold as I remember the fate of the girl from District Eleven.

"I'll be here, waiting to hear your cannon fire," I tell her retreating back as she eventually disappears through the doorway.

Octavian literally runs after her like a puppy chasing after his mistress and Marcia follows him with a deep and tired sigh. When she has vanished from sight, I look up to see Sheen staring unblinkingly down at me.

"Don't try anything or you'll regret it," he says, his voice quiet but fierce.

"What are you going to do about it if I do? You don't scare me, Little Boy."

"But she does," he replies, nodding in the direction Dahlia disappeared.

"If you think she'll fight with you then you're even stupider than I thought."

"If you think he wants anything from you other than what our esteemed Capitol escort wanted then you're deluding yourself more than I am," he replies, looking across at Corvinus, who is silently watching our exchange with interest.

I laugh. "Be careful whose name you slander," I tell him, confident that he is wrong about both Falco and Corvinus. I don't know why my ally doesn't want me and the attitude he has to me is so different from what I am used to that he confuses me greatly, but that doesn't mean I don't know my district partner's words are lies.

"District One, are you coming or do you want to spend some quality time with your district partner before I kill her?" comes Dahlia's voice from outside in the corridor.

Sheen quickly walks away, leaving Corvinus and I alone in the vast room.

"Not yet," he tells me and I nod in agreement. It's still too early to split the Alliance, especially in a place like this.

* * *

I hate being alone in this place, I always knew I would, and despite understanding my ally's logic of having one of us waiting by the Cornucopia as a guard so the rest of us don't have to carry the bags, I still wish it wasn't me.

Just to have something to do and occupy my mind, I search through the remains of the boxes the golden horn had contained. There isn't much. Everything of value was taken by my allies and I on the first day of the Games, which feels like a lifetime ago already.

Standing upright once again, I run my fingers through my hair, trying to comb out some of the knots. I haven't had a proper wash for days despite how we found a water source the day before yesterday, my clothes are filthy and bloodstained, and my top has a massive tear across the back that must have happened at some point during the bloodbath, so I dread to think what I must look like. I've had nothing sent to me since the apples and the crackers, and despite logic telling me that the reason for that is most likely to be that I haven't needed anything, I can't help but think my newly dishevelled appearance also has something to do with it.

I slide my back down the side of the Cornucopia until I am sitting down leaning against it and stay there for what feels like forever. As I stare at the grey wall opposite me, watching the trails of water as they slide down the cold metal, I wonder what Gloss is doing now. I wonder if I'm on camera right now, if he is watching me. I raise my hand to my district token and twist the pendant around and around. I know I shouldn't think that way but I can't fight the feeling I have that this isn't going at all to plan. Before Reaping Day I had felt so confident that I wouldn't suffer Sapphire's fate, but now I'm not so sure.

"Is anyone out there watching?" I say, welcoming the sound of my voice as an alternative to the dreadful, ever-present noises of the arena despite knowing that talking to myself is probably the first sign of madness and hoping desperately that I don't start to answer back. I hear nothing in reply so I simply continue to stare at the wall, waiting for something to happen to break the monotony.

I don't know how long I sit there for but it must be at least an hour or two, then abruptly something does happen. The silver parachute floats slowly down to land on my lap and I quickly lift it back up again. Attached to the impossibly fine golden thread is a bright silver dagger, which catches the light as I turn it back and forth. The handle is encrusted with jewels. Diamonds and sapphires, I notice, and when I look at the end of the handle, I see a very roughly etched and clearly recently added outline of a butterfly.

Furious with myself for being so overly emotional at a time like this, several minutes later I wipe the silent tears from my face and push the dagger down the side of my boot and out of sight just as the others loudly approach the door. I don't want them to know about it, especially as it was most likely deliberately delivered to me when I was alone, and I feel my heart lift for the first time in days when I feel it digging into my calf. It didn't look cheap, in fact it looked very expensive, and that tells me all I need to know. The Capitol obviously have a higher opinion of my current appearance than I do myself because I obviously still have sponsors.

"Did you find anything?" I ask as my allies enter the room.

"No," replies Corvinus. "Anything happened here?"

I shake my head and he sighs, crossing the room to the Cornucopia, taking out a couple of the sleeping bags before throwing them onto the floor a short distance away from me and sitting down.

"Go to sleep," he says. "Marcia and I can take first watch."

The girl from District Four nods so I shrug my shoulders and lie back. I don't have the energy to protest.

* * *

I have tried not to sleep too deeply since I came here, never trusting those around me, always lying curled up in a tight ball with my hand gripped firmly around the hilt of my sword, but as soon as I lay down a few hours ago, I knew straight away that I was simply too exhausted to fight it. That is why when I wake this time, I am lying on my back with one arm draped loosely across my body and the other by my side, neither of my hands holding my sword to ensure I am ready to defend myself at a second's notice.

I stop to listen to what's happening around me before I fully open my eyes, still only half aware of where I am. When I hear nothing, for a split second I allow myself to believe that my dream is the reality and the arena is the dream. Then I open my eyes to see the solid, grey metallic ceiling of my warehouse prison and come crashing back down to earth with a painful bang.

It wasn't that bleak, empty sight I was seeing in my dream. In my dream I was looking up at the District One night sky that I can still remember even though the arena seems to be doing its best to make me forget. I smile at the memory I recall, the memory from my dream, temporarily forgetting the other tributes, the arena and the Games entirely.

When we were children, Gloss would always walk the short distance from his room to Sapphire's, and then when everyone else in the house had gone to bed, the three of us would climb out of the window and onto the roof beyond. The first few times we did it, Sapphire and I would walk lightly up and down the narrow ridge where the two sloped sides joined, ignoring the sheer drop below us and laughing at Gloss's terrified calls for us to stop. It didn't take long for Satin to hear us and go running for Father, and the result was a lock on Sapphire's window that looked so fancy I could almost believe he'd got it from the Capitol.

It took Gloss a full year to work out how to open that lock in a way that Father would never detect, so when he eventually succeeded, we were all a lot more careful not to make so much noise. The three of us would sit astride the narrowest part of the top of the roof for hours, keeping to the one place that we had worked out couldn't be seen from Satin's window.

It was only a small space, and as Gloss always said he had to sit in the middle because he was the youngest, ignoring how I knew it was really because he hated the cold, I would sit in front of him, wrapped tightly in his arms, and Sapphire would sit curled up behind him, her arms just about reaching around him so she could hold onto my coat. Together we would talk about everything and nothing, looking up at the sky and wishing we could reach up and touch the stars.

"Why are you crying, Cashmere?" shouts Sheen so all the others can hear, roughly interrupting the first really pleasant thought I've had since arriving here. "You finally realised you've got no chance of going home?"

I quickly wipe my tears from my face with my filthy hands, ignoring Dahlia's mocking laugh. "I'm thinking of what I'm going to say to your family when I return to District One alive and you don't," I retort, finding that I despise my district partner even more than I despise the girl from Two, who at least has never pretended to be anything other than what she is.

* * *

We've been walking for about an hour before I hear it; the clanging sound of something hitting the hard stone floor followed by hurried footsteps as it's owner rushes to pick it up and stop the noise that echoes around the corridors. I turn to look at the others to see Sheen reach for his sword as he prepares to charge forwards.

"No," I breathe, raising my hand. "Remember last time."

Surprisingly he listens to me, so I turn back and creep slowly to the end of the corridor. I peer around the corner of the wall just in time to see a shadow disappear as whoever it is who made the noise vanishes from sight.

I gesture for the others to follow, glaring at Octavian when his foot scrapes loudly along the floor. He blushes and moves to stand behind Marcia, who is also struggling to move silently but is doing a much better job of it than her district partner. The other three are totally quiet, and I notice that for once they aren't arguing, perhaps because they sense the prospect of making another cannon fire.

I don't know how long we follow the tribute for, but it is certainly long enough for me to be surprised we go unnoticed. I eventually see a scrap of material caught on the rough edge of one of the wall panels and recognise it as one I left there days earlier. Therefore I am not surprised when Dahlia raises her hand to stop us and I walk forward to the end of the corridor in time to see the girl from District Nine disappearing into the room I had paused in front of and been persuaded not to enter.

"No! Stop!" I call as Sheen sprints past me and down the corridor to slam the door shut behind the girl.

The four others and I barrel down the corridor after him, skidding to a halt in front of the door. I stand against it so I can look inside through the small window and so does Dahlia. I've never been this close to the girl from District Two before, so close that her shoulder pushes hard against my upper arm as we both stare into the almost empty room. I can feel and sense the tension that fills every fibre of her body, and I find myself wondering if she is always like that, if something made her that way.

Then I abruptly forget her completely as I focus on the girl trapped inside the room. She's seen us, I know she has, but when she suddenly drops the parcels she is holding and lets out the loudest scream I have ever heard, she isn't looking at the door.

I follow the direction of her panic-stricken gaze to see the entire back wall slowly but steadily edging towards her. She frantically scans the small room, searching desperately for another way out or a way to stop the walls from quite literally closing in on her. It quickly becomes apparent to all of us that what she is searching for will never appear.

One minute Dahlia is by my side, laughing cruelly as she watches the girl, then the next minute she is gone, pulled back and away by Corvinus, who draws his sword at the same time as she draws her two longest knives. I watch them circling around each other, neither quite willing to make the first move, until my attention is drawn away by the sound of the girl in the room as she cries out and claws frantically at the door. The wall has moved enough to make the room half its previous size now, and it's showing no sign of stopping.

I watch her through the glass. She's so close that I can see the tears streaming down her cheeks, the panic in her eyes more horrifying than anything I have seen before, including the little girl from District Three's death after the bloodbath, which was at least quick and relatively painless.

"Help me! Please help me!" she screams over and over again, no longer seeing me as an opponent but as the only person who can save her from her terrible fate.

I try closing my eyes and blocking her out but it makes no difference, I can still see her, I can still hear her screaming. Before my mind has time to catch up with my body, I am pulling at the handle on my side of the door. It won't open. It's stuck. Or someone a long way from here has locked it. That's more likely.

"What _are _you doing, Cashmere?" asks Sheen with mocking incredulity.

"Nobody deserves to die like this!" I shout back as I continue to try to force the door open. My voice sounds slightly hysterical even to my own ears, a complete contrast to his totally emotionless calm.

The wall is so close now, so close that I imagine the girl could touch both sides at the same time if she tried. It keeps moving, the scraping sound it makes filling the entire corridor. The girl soon loses her ability to think rationally and then abandons the handle to slam her fists repeatedly against the window so hard that her skin breaks and it becomes red with her blood.

Then she abruptly vanishes from my sight as I am lifted off my feet and thrown hard against the opposite wall to collapse on the floor at its base. Slightly dazed and bruised, hearing Gloss's voice in my head, screaming at me to get up and fight, I reach for my sword, dragging myself to my feet to face Corvinus. I step shakily forwards to meet him, briefly surprised that he has allowed me this recovery time.

However I very quickly realise that he isn't looking at me, but that he's staring at the still firmly closed door. A cannon fires and he looks away, his face emotionless as he walks over to me, ignoring my drawn sword. He pulls a square of shockingly white fabric from his pocket and hands it to me, brushing the back of his hand over the bare skin of my upper arm in a strange echo of our first meeting in training, before continuing down the corridor without looking back. I look down at my arm to see that the cut Dahlia gave me on the first day of the Games has been reopened by my argument with the wall and that there is a thin trail of blood running along my pale skin.

I sigh deeply and press the dressing to my wound, rendered completely speechless by what I almost witnessed, what I would have witnessed if Corvinus hadn't prevented it. I follow him down the corridor, barely noticing if the others are following or not. How could they kill that girl like that? Her name will go on Sheen's kill list because it was he who shut the door, but he didn't kill her. He didn't know what would happen when he sprinted forwards to trap her. Maybe the audience are getting bored and this is how they are filling in time while they think of a way to drive us together. Maybe this was their plan all along and this arena was created to be more dangerous than any of us tributes. The Capitol audience loves variety so perhaps this is the Gamemakers way of keeping them entertained this year.

"We should be able to get some rest now," says Corvinus as I catch up with him, the others close behind me. "That will give them something to talk about for a while."

I stare up at him as we walk along. "That girl was just crushed to death before your eyes," I whisper, keeping my voice quiet so the others don't hear my weakness. "Do you feel nothing?"

"I feel, Cashmere, just like you do," he replies immediately and in the same low but fierce tone, "but showing my feelings won't bring her back, will it? It won't get me home either."

I jump when Octavian suddenly appears beside me, then I force myself to remember where I am and gradually slow down, taking my position behind Dahlia and Sheen so I can always see them. If I die in this place then I am determined that it won't be because someone stabs me in the back. Corvinus smirks in acknowledgement of what I'm doing and drops back to walk by my side. Octavian rushes forwards to walk a short distance behind Dahlia, reinforcing the puppy dog comparison that always springs to mind when I see him. She briefly turns around to look at him before refocusing on the direction she is heading as we follow the corridor that leads to the Cornucopia.

* * *

Nothing has changed when we get back. We carefully check the room but everything is where we left it and there is nothing there that wasn't there before. I try to remember who else is left, at first thinking that there can't be that many other than us, but then not feeling so sure. The only one I remember is Davena, and I don't know if I'm glad she's still alive or not. Either way, I know I'm definitely not surprised, and I find it all to easy to imagine her hiding away somewhere, biding her time as she watches the death recaps night after night, waiting for our Alliance to fall before making her final desperate attempt to get back to the family she loves so much. If it wasn't for the fact that I would have to die for her to get there, I think I would want her to return to them.

"Now what?" asks Sheen, looking around at the rest of us.

He looks tired, but he is the most unwilling to rest of our group, and I can tell he's about to suggest continuing the hunt. He still has that gleam in his eyes, the one that the sight of makes me rethink what I thought before the Games started and decide he hungers to spill the blood of his opponents even more than Dahlia does.

In response to his question, the girl from District Two crosses to the Cornucopia and removes some of the sleeping bags before piling them on the floor and sitting down.

"I'm not going anywhere for a few hours. We need a better plan than this so if you want something to do then start thinking."

"But he doesn't think, Dahlia, that's the point," I interject, my tiredness making me snappy. "That's why he's bored."

"I'd fight you if it wouldn't be such a boringly easy victory," he retorts immediately.

"I agree, you'd be no match for me so I guess I would get bored very quickly."

"Would the lot of you stop acting like children," shouts Corvinus, making us all fall silent. "We can't keep walking forever so we should rest while we can. District Four take first watch."

He gathers the rest of the sleeping bags, throwing one at Sheen and two at me, before putting the two he kept for himself on one of the few dry places on the floor, drawing his sword and lying down. I look around for another similarly dry patch of floor space but see nothing that wouldn't involve sleeping dangerously close to Dahlia or Sheen. I glance speculatively at the man from District Two and he smirks.

"You have my word that I won't kill you today, Cashmere," he tells me with greatly exaggerated mock formality.

I nod and walk over to him, lying my sleeping bags down next to his. I smile as I imagine what Gloss is probably thinking now, then my smile fades as it occurs to me that he won't be viewing this in the same way as he would if I was sitting next to someone I shouldn't at a party back home. This time the only thought in his mind is most likely going to be that he hopes Corvinus is a man of his word and that the Games have taught me to be a lighter sleeper than I was before. I am almost drifting off to sleep when I hear a rustling followed by a hissed whisper.

"If you want a sleeping bag then have the courage to ask for one or you won't last much longer here."

Dahlia. I open one eye slightly to see her lean to the side to remove one of the sleeping bags from her pile of about five and throw it in the direction of Octavian, who stands a short distance away from her, shuffling from one foot to another and running a hand nervously through his almost Odair-like bronze-coloured hair. He quickly scoops it up and darts away to a safer distance before sitting down upon it. He moves over so Marcia can sit beside him with a smile, and once more I think how he is far too innocent to be part of this Alliance. There must be something about him if he can induce even the slightest amount of consideration from the likes of Dahlia though, and that could make him as much of a threat as she is.


	13. Chapter 13

**I've finished Mockingjay now - thanks for not spoiling it for me :) You can now say what you like about it while I try to decide if I'm brave enough to carry on past the Victory Tour... **

**Anyway, on with the story... This chapter is a lot of backstory and reintroducing a character who has been absent for a long time ;) I didn't know where else to put it all so it got it's own chapter. Normal levels of death, destruction and arena traps will return next week ;) **

Chapter Thirteen

_I race down the dark and narrow corridor, the damp floor ringing with the sound of my feet slamming into it. I look frantically from side to side, searching for an escape that isn't there. It feels like I run forever, and then I see it: a door. A simple sheet of thick metal, just like the doors here always are, the solid-looking handle crying out for my hand to turn it._

_The room is tiny, and once I have slammed the door shut behind me, all I can hear is the sound of my own rasping breaths and the steady dripping of water which escapes through the holes between the walls and ceiling that somehow never seem to reveal even a fraction of light._

_There is nothing in here, nothing at all. The escape I had been searching for so desperately and thought I had found is merely an illusion. Then a horrific scraping sound fills my ears, just like nails scraping down a blackboard. I spin around to see the far wall slowly sliding towards me, neither it's journey nor the noise it makes ever ceasing._

_I reach for the door handle, my fingers scrabbling on the cold metal as I scream when it doesn't move. The wall gets closer and I keep screaming. I can't breathe. I can't look at it but I somehow can't look away. There is no light, only a deep, impenetrable darkness that I can't escape. I cry out, begging for them to make it stop. It doesn't falter for even a second._

* * *

I don't know how long it takes me to come back to reality, but when I am finally aware of my surroundings again, I am sitting bolt upright on my sleeping bag, trembling as I gasp for breath. I turn my head to the left to see Corvinus also sitting up, watching me intently, seemingly waiting for me to calm down enough to recognise him so he doesn't suffer the consequences of approaching me when I am still in the grip of my nightmare. What I guess some people who have lead more sheltered lives than he or I would call my extreme reaction doesn't seem new or shocking to him, making me believe he has seen it before. I wonder if he has watched another wake up screaming as she tries to escape the terror of her dreams? Judging by his reaction, I wouldn't be at all surprised.

"Did Felix tell you that you couldn't wear your favourite dress, Cashmere?" says Sheen mockingly. "Is that what all the noise is about?"

"Be quiet," growls Corvinus in a low voice that sounds more deadly than any other I have heard before.

I look over to my district partner in time to see the vicious scowl that passes over his face, but it swiftly disappears. He says nothing even though I can tell he wants to. A slight cough tells me that Dahlia is awake too, and to see her watching me bothers me more than anything Sheen might have said. She says nothing, she just sits there, watching my weakness in silent disgust as she memorises every move I make.

"It's time for your watch," says Corvinus to Dahlia as he rises quickly to his feet. "I'm going to try a bit of hunting without the rest of you slowing me down. Are you coming?" he continues, looking down at me this time.

I stare steadily back up at him. Falco and Felix's warning not to trust the others replays in my mind but I get up anyway. The Alliance has got to end sooner or later and I quickly decide that I can't spend another minute in this place. It feels like the walls of the room are closing in on me, just like they were in my dream. I have to get out or I will soon be as insane as that girl from District Eleven who died on the second day.

* * *

We have been walking along the now familiar corridors that surround the Cornucopia Room in silence for about half an hour before I decide I can walk no more and sink down onto the driest bit of floor I can find. It has taken this long for my breathing to return to normal and for the panic that held me tightly in it's grasp to finally let go. Being away from the others seems to help, and now they are not here, I realise how tense being part of the Alliance has made me.

Then I shudder suddenly as I hear the scraping sound again. It's coming from some distance away, I've become accustomed to this hellish place enough to know that, but that doesn't stop me from temporarily ceasing to breathe every time I hear it. I expect to hear a cannon fire at any second, and despite knowing that every tribute who is removed from the Games is one less, I don't feel as much comfort at the thought of that as I expected to before I came here.

Eventually the echoing stops and all I hear is the water slowly trickling down the walls. The lights are still flickering but at least they are staying on, for now anyway. After what happened to the girl from Eleven, I have grown to fear the darkness.

I turn to look at my ally, my only ally, who I trust as much as I could ever trust an opponent in a place like this even though I know I probably shouldn't. He sits leaning against the wall a short distance away, staring into the distance with his hand gripped tightly around the hilt of the long knife he has carried since the bloodbath. I can see the pattern of scars that covers his hands and arms from here, and if I were feeling a bit braver then I would ask him about them. Anything to break the silence between us and distract me from the horrific sounds that fill my head with nightmares.

"You don't say a lot, do you?" I ask him eventually when the silence becomes too much for me to bear.

"Most things people say are stupid or meaningless. Why say something for the sake of it?"

"Because it's what people do. It's called having a conversation."

He smirks but doesn't speak again. I shake my head in exasperation and he laughs.

"What do you want to talk about, District One?"

I shrug my shoulders, scowling at his teasing return to my district number instead of my name. "Anything."

"And that would be meaningless, just like I said."

"Is this what you do back home? Decide there's no point talking to people when it's so much easier to fight them instead?"

"Usually," he says softly. "But I don't fight everyone."

"Then I'm sure you're a great disappointment to your district. Surely they don't permit you to have people you won't fight?"

He doesn't answer me but his hand moves to his district token in an almost subconscious gesture that I recognise instantly because I know it's one we share. I take a deep breath and decide to be brave.

"What do you think she's thinking now?" I ask in little more than a whisper, having nothing to go on but a few things he has not quite said to me in the past and hoping that I am guessing correctly.

He doesn't reply. He doesn't even show any sign that he heard my question.

"What's she like?"

"It's none of your business!" he snarls. "Drop it, Cashmere. Drop it or I'll make you!"

"Will you? What are you so afraid of? Or are you ashamed, is that it?"

"Never!" he shouts instantly, his voice echoing around the corridor long after he has fallen silent.

He isn't looking at me, he is looking down at his hands, but when he finally raises his head and his eyes meet mine, his expression is very slightly softer, which I expect is as much of a concession as I'm going to get.

"I'm curious, I can't help it," I tell him, which is also as close to an apology as he's going to get from me.

"Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe because I think talking to someone about love instead of hate will make this endless nightmare fade for a while."

His eyes flash back to mine instantly then, and most of the anger they had held has gone. He says nothing for several minutes and I don't push him. I might be curious and I might have meant what I just said, but I'm not suicidal. Then he smiles slightly and shrugs his shoulders.

"She's a bit like you actually. Not in looks," he adds in response to my raised eyebrows. "She has your pride and determination though, but in a quieter way. She has this way of making me do what she wants without me even realising I'm giving in to her. If I hadn't ended up here then I would have given up everything for her and I wouldn't ever have regretted it."

"How long have you known her?"

"Five years, but she's only been mine for two." He smirks then as he continues. "There's a story there that you'll never get to hear."

"I'm relieved to hear it, for your lover's sake as well as mine," I reply, returning his smirk. "What's her name?"

"Astraea," he says after a long pause where he doesn't even seem to be seeing me at all. "Astraea Bellafonte-Rossetti. She isn't just my lover, she's my wife."

I stare at him in shock although I'm not quite sure why. It isn't unusual to be married at eighteen in District One so I don't see why it should be any different in Two. Maybe it's because they were obviously married before either of them were free of the threat of the Games. I watch as he stands up and strides away down the corridor, every aspect of his body language screaming a fury that I quickly realise is directed not at me but at himself. But why?

"Corvinus! Corvinus, wait!"

I scramble to my feet and chase after him, and we collide when he suddenly stops to stare at the flight of steps that lead down to the lowest floor of the arena. He instinctively reaches out to catch me and then our eyes meet.

"Not a word or this little alliance ends," he whispers. "I've already said too much."

"But…" I start, and when he doesn't make any move to end my life I continue tentatively. "What's wrong with saying what you said. It's true isn't it?"

"It isn't that simple. I shouldn't have said anything. I promised myself I wouldn't speak of her."

"Why?"

"Because she'll suffer for it. I can't explain so don't ask me to."

There is something very final there, telling me that this conversation has ended and that I should simply accept it, so I do, quickly changing the subject to something safer.

"Are we going to see if it's as horrendous down there as it is up here then?" I ask, looking questioningly up at him. He smiles ever so slightly and nods, seemingly relieved to be talking about something else.

* * *

"I'm sorry," I say eventually as we continue down a corridor every bit as damp and dark as the one on the level above. "My brother always says I'm too curious for my own good."

"It sounds like your brother's smart," he says as he turns and looks steadily into my eyes, his expression unreadable. "You'd be in serious trouble if you'd been born in District Two."

I smirk at that. "I wouldn't, because if I'd been born in District Two then I wouldn't be me. I'd be more like Dahlia," I continue with a hugely over exaggerated shudder.

"It took more than being born in District Two to make Dahlia what she is," he replies, abruptly becoming serious again.

I nod in agreement, not sure I want to know any more. "I'm still sorry."

He nods in return. "I know. And 'Straea can look after herself anyway. She doesn't need me."

"She must do. She married you, didn't she?"

"You wound me, Cashmere," he replies teasingly. "How could you suggest she married me only for protection?"

"I can't see that you possess any other virtues to recommend you," I reply flatly, drawing myself up to my full height and tilting my head back to look down my nose at him as best as I can considering my eyes are level with his chest.

I just manage to finish my sentence before he springs towards me. I spin around and dart away down the corridor as we forget who we are and where we are for the briefest of moments.

He chases me until we reach the next staircase, but then he comes to an abrupt halt. I follow the direction of his gaze to see a figure huddled in the corner, barely visible in the shadows. My heart sinks when I realise I'm going to have to become a killer yet again.

The sleeping tribute must have sensed our presence because he immediately jumps up, brandishing a very fearsome-looking knife in a way that tells me straight away that he has absolutely no idea what he's doing. Corvinus draws his sword and steps forward, completely unrecognisable as the man who just chased me down the corridor. The dark skinned boy I vaguely recognise as being the one from District Eleven holds his ground, but the knife gripped in his tight fist is very visibly shaking.

I know what's going to happen already but I force myself to watch, also knowing that the audience are sure to be watching this. If they think me weak then I may suddenly find myself with a lot less sponsorship money than I currently have, and brutal though it is, this is the Hunger Games and I have to be practical.

It takes Corvinus all of five seconds to cut the boy's throat. He falls to the floor, dying before my ally can lower his sword into his heart to end his suffering. The cannon fires and echoes around us. I stand completely still, unable to tear my gaze away from the boy, who's lifeless hands still clutch at his neck even in death. I don't even know his name.

"I'm sorry," breathes Corvinus as he too stands there staring down at his victim, his voice so quiet that I barely hear the words he says as he brings his district token to his lips. I can't help wondering whether he is apologising to the boy or to his wife, but I don't dare ask.

"Come on. Let's go," I say, reaching up to rest my hand on his arm. He jumps slightly, as if he didn't know I was there. "The others will be taking bets on who died and I can't wait to see the disappointment on their faces when we both reappear."

"Cashmere," he says warningly, and I know he thinks I'm being disrespectful.

"Reality is reality, Corvinus. Nothing we do or say will bring him back."

"I know, but I haven't had to fight children since I was a child myself. He had no chance."

I follow him back up the stairs, struck again by how little I know about the district he calls home. "You obviously knew Dahlia before this but you're nothing like her."

"Are you like everyone else in District One?"

"Certainly not," I retort indignantly, thinking immediately of Lace. "There's nobody else like me."

He laughs. "Well then," he says. "There's your answer."

"I know, I know, but Dahlia actually seems to be enjoying this. I don't understand."

"Dahlia isn't like me. She has nothing if she doesn't have this. She was taken out of the Community Home by one of the most famous past victors in Panem before she was even of reaping age. She's learnt from the best ever since. She knows nothing else."

"If you're so different, if you've got so much to live for, then why are you here?"

He looks intensely at me, clearly torn between annoyance and amusement at my persistent questioning, before finally deciding to answer me. He covers his mouth with his hand and speaks so quietly that I have to strain to hear.

"A child doesn't usually question what they grow up with if they know nothing else. They told me to fight and taught me how, so that's what I did. By the time I realised there is more to life than fighting it was too late."

"I still don't understand."

"If you don't fight to the best of your ability when they select the tributes then they don't let you live," he replies incredulously, sounding as if he can't believe I don't understand without the explanation. "If you hold back then you are of no use to them because it means they can't rely on you. The best of my ability got me here."

"It isn't fair," I say with a still-confused sigh, sinking to the floor, past caring about the water.

He shrugs his shoulders and sits down beside me. "Nothing ever is. I'm not always a good person, Cashmere. I'll fight first and think later and I doubt that will ever change, but killing children isn't right."

"It's the way it is," I tell him quietly but firmly, not liking the way this conversation is going and trying to change the subject in case they can hear us despite our attempts to conceal our words.

He nods, seeming to take the hint. "So, who's left?"

"Your district partner, mine…" I say, laughing in spite of the situation.

"Apart from them," he says, pushing me lightly.

"Davena, both from Six, and…and a couple of others I can't remember."

"We'd best get back then. And you should get up off the floor or your sponsors will have to send their great beauty a new outfit."

"Can they do that?" I ask with mock seriousness, just managing to keep a straight face for long enough to finish my question.

* * *

"I don't think this will last much longer," I say, nodding in the direction of the door behind which I know we'll find the rest of the Alliance.

"It won't," Corvinus says in agreement, "but who's going to break it first?"

I say nothing as we reach the door and I push it open as silently as I can. I peer around it into the room, my hand firmly on the hilt of my sword, scanning the massive space and eventually finding Marcia's dark eyes staring back at me.

"Well?" she asks, and I know she's referring to the cannon that fired.

"It was District Eleven," I reply, walking further into the room so Corvinus can follow me.

I watch as he also scans the vast room, following the direction of his gaze in response to the mixture of shock and amusement that suddenly appears on his face. Sheen sleeps on one side of the golden horn, and on the other lies Octavian, clearly so asleep that he probably didn't even hear the cannon fire and also only about a metre away from Dahlia, who lies curled up on her sleeping bag, looking as tense as ever.

"He could have picked a safer first crush, don't you think?" whispers Marcia, again sounding slightly more protective over her district partner than I would have expected.

I turn away without replying, trying not to think about either of them as being anything more than Finnick Odair's tributes.

Corvinus laughs. "He's a fool if he thinks he's got feelings for Dahlia Vilani," he says wryly, "though if he's that close to her and she hasn't killed him then he's better tolerated than almost every other person in Panem."

"Is what she's like in here normal for her then?" asks Marcia curiously.

He nods, carefully not saying too much because we're sure to be on camera. As he does, the subject of our conversation stretches and sits up on her sleeping bag, returning the knife she had clutched in her hand back to her belt. She glances at Octavian then quickly looks away.

"Have they played the recap yet?"

"I think you'd have heard the anthem," I reply dryly. "Unless you were too asleep to notice."

"I wasn't," she snarls back. "Who died?"

"District Eleven," replies Corvinus. "I cut his throat about half an hour ago."

"Three, Five, both from Six, Seven and the five of you to go then," she says flatly, revealing to me that she has been monitoring the death recaps a lot more closely than she would previously have had us believe.

"You wish, Vilani," says Corvinus in response before turning away.

Dahlia reaches over to push Octavian before getting to her feet and dropping her bag heavily to the floor next to Sheen's head. He raises his sword instantly but she easily dodges away and quickly turns her back on him with complete confidence. I am still watching them when my district partner jumps to his feet, sword raised as he lunges towards her.

"Dahlia!" shouts Octavian, but she has already turned, drawing her own sword as she moves and then bringing it up to meet Sheen's with the consummate ease I have come to expect.

"You'll regret that," she snarls, and soon the room is full of the sound of their swords clashing as she attacks Sheen furiously.

He defends himself a lot better than I thought he would, and other than a surface wound to his right side, he escapes unscathed until Marcia splits them up, only just managing to remain uninjured herself. It was her district partner who made her take the risk, I can see it as clearly as she can. The loyalty she had taken for granted now appears less certain than it did before, and she isn't afraid to hedge her bets by keeping my district partner alive.

"There's a lot of upstairs we haven't seen yet," I interrupt, doing my best to ease some of the tension that has risen up between us all, hoping to hear a few more cannons fire before leaving the relative security of the Alliance. "Some of the others might be up there."

Corvinus nods and gestures to the door. "Hurry up," he says, as effortlessly commanding as ever. "We can't stand around here forever."

He sets off in the direction he had pointed and I follow him, sensing the others behind me. We are in the corridor before we hear the anthem start, but we all gaze back into the Cornucopia Room to see District Eleven's face appear on the wall as the sole tribute to feature in tonight's death recap projection.

"We can't," I say pointedly, picking up the conversation from my ally. "I'm sure we're getting very boring."

This time nobody fails to get the message and all inter-alliance conflicts are temporarily forgotten as we continue towards the nearest staircase.

* * *

The part of the arena we find ourselves in doesn't look exactly the same as what we've become used to. If anything it looks like the Gamemakers stopped construction of the place before it was properly finished, for there are sheets of metal lying at odd angles on the floor and against the walls. I draw my sword quickly, the dim and inconsistent lights making me think every shadow is a lurking tribute. Octavian accidentally kicks one over as he walks along, and the noise frightens me to the extent that I'm certain my reaction will be visible to the audience. My only comfort is that I'm not the only one.

"You won't make so much noise if I cut your throat, District Four," hisses Sheen once everyone has realised the source of the sound which startled us all so badly.

"Silence!"

"Yes, District One. Be quiet."

If it wasn't for the situation I would laugh at the contrast between the vicious authority in Dahlia's voice and Octavian's youthful uncertainty, but now isn't the time for laughter so I say nothing.

"Do you think some of the others are up here?" asks Marcia eventually.

"Probably," answers Corvinus. "It's a better place to hide than downstairs."

"And safer too," she adds. "Not so many rooms with windows in the doors."

"Someone _has _been here," interrupts Dahlia, dragging her fingers lightly over one of the sheets of metal.

When I walk past the same sheet a couple of seconds later, I look closely and see Dahlia's finger marks in the dust. Then I notice there is another set there too, one that seems to have been there long enough for the dust to resettle over it a little bit.

We continue along the maze of corridors, barely making a sound as we go. Even Octavian is quiet now, and it feels like we can all sense we are getting closer to what we seek. Eventually we silently decide to spread out slightly, Dahlia dropping back behind the group and Marcia going on ahead. After that it isn't long before her shout reaches us, accompanied by a scuffle and the sound of metal scraping against metal.

"Over here! Quickly!"

The rest of us sprint down the corridor to catch up, rounding a corner in time to see Marcia tearing after our target. All I see of her is a flash of dark brown hair as she vanishes down another path, fleeing the remains of her collapsed shelter. It can only be Davena. I'd been wondering where she was hiding out ever since she escaped the bloodbath and it looks like I've finally found my answer.

Then the chase begins again, with my district partner pushing his way to the front of the group, appearing more eager to add to his kill list than ever.

Davena is strong and healthy, so for once the result of the chase isn't a forgone conclusion in our favour. We race down corridor after corridor, following the sound of her footsteps, only seeing her once or twice as she darts around yet another bend or turn in the corridor.

"You can't run forever, District Seven!" shouts Sheen eventually from his position at the front of our group.

The rest of us follow him and I try to remain at the back, watching every move the others make. As I race along, I try to fight it but I can't help remembering Davena's interview and how she spoke about her family with such love in her voice that even the all-powerful Capitol temporarily fell silent. I didn't want to be there when she died, mostly because for some reason, of all the tributes outside the Alliance, she is the most real to me.

We turn yet another corner and I suddenly realise how many twists and turns there are in this part of the arena. The corridors here are about a tenth of the length of the ones my allies and I have spent our Games wandering around and it is very easy for me to imagine getting completely lost. I will remember this place. The signs are starting to appear now, the Alliance won't last much longer, and that means that I may soon need somewhere to hide.

I am just starting to think this chase is going to go on forever when we turn one final corner and skid to a halt. Davena stands there, tall, proud and seemingly uninjured, apparently fearless despite how she faces all six of us with no weapon greater than what seems to be a single wooden post. I wonder where she got it from, because everything in the arena I have seen has been made of metal not wood, and I didn't see her anywhere near the Cornucopia when the Games started. But surely a sponsor would have sent her a more reliable weapon? Unless that was all her mentor could afford?

"District Seven," purrs Dahlia, speaking for the first time since the chase began, finally breaking her uncharacteristic silence. "I've been waiting for this. We have some unfinished business, I think."

My four other allies and I stand in silence as if in suspended animation, watching the two of them eying each other in what I know is a continuation of the confrontation that began on the first day of training. At the time I had wished I knew what they were arguing about and my curiosity is even greater now.

Davena says nothing for at least a minute, and the tension that fills the corridor is so great that I'm surprised I can't see it. Then she shrugs her shoulders, as if daring her opponent to make the first move. Dahlia doesn't disappoint her, quickly stepping forward so they are no more than a metre apart.

"Do you think your family are watching now?" she taunts. "Do you think they realise they're about to watch you die?"

The girl from District Seven continues to stare flatly down at Dahlia, and I suddenly notice how much she really does have to look down. The only one of our group who is taller than her is Corvinus.

"I know they're watching me, Dahlia," she replies with a level of calm in her voice that shows her true and incredible bravery regardless of whether she feels scared inside or not. "They know me well enough to know I'm not ready to die yet."

Before she even finishes her sentence she lashes out, her thick wooden post striking Dahlia's right shoulder even though the girl from District Two's reflexes are so good that she is able to jump back. Then Davena spins on her heel and tears off down the corridor again, fleeing my ally's scream of rage.

"Move! Now!" shouts Dahlia to the rest of us. This time it is she who leads the group onwards rather than my district partner.

We keep running and running until we turn down another corridor to abruptly find our path is blocked by a sheet of metal that looks identical to the ones we had seen scattered around when we first enters this part of the arena.

"She's a smart one," observes Corvinus as he pushes his way to the front and kicks the metal out of the way. "She's the first to get away from us anyway."

It takes him several attempts to break through, the clanging noise made by his foot striking the solid surface sounding deafeningly loud in the silence. As he had guessed, by the time he succeeds, Davena has vanished without a trace and we are so close to the staircase that it is immediately obvious she could have gone in any one of about four different directions. As I listen in vain for her, I can't help thinking that there is every chance I have been wrong all along. Perhaps my greatest opponent isn't one of the five tributes who surround me but someone else entirely. Perhaps the girl from one of Panem's poorest districts still thinks she's going home.

**I'm going away for a few days without my precious laptop now, so if you are expecting me to answer a message and I don't then that is why, but I will reply when I get back next week. Don't let my absence stop you from reviewing ;) (I can't believe I've got over a hundred reviews already!)**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Last night they sent us food. Lots of food. It was almost like our mentors were competing with each other to prove that their tributes had more support from sponsors than any other, and in the end we just piled the plates in the middle and shared. Not that we weren't all carefully noting what arrived for each of us, of course, for despite the temporary truce, nobody can forget where we are.

As I slowly open my eyes and sit up, I can't help smiling at the memory. Everyone had something, but I had the most, proving to the whole group that the Capitol still loves me just as much as it did when I was sent that water on the first day and when they kept me as the favourite in the pre-Games betting even though both from Two had higher training scores.

"What are you so happy about?" asks Corvinus from his now familiar position at my side.

"Nothing," I say with a smirk. "It's just nice not to be hungry."

He smiles and shakes his head but says nothing further, reaching over to take a couple of slices of bread from a nearby plate, keeping one for himself and passing the other to me. The bread had been his, as had a large proportion of the other food we received, and as much as I can see that he hates himself for talking of his personal life when the cameras could pick up his words, I can also see that it has increased the support he has from the watching audience more than fighting and killing the other tributes ever could have. There are probably people who would never normally consider sponsoring a tribute from District Two sending him money now. However as I don't have a death wish, I choose not to mention this to him.

"I'm going for a walk," says Marcia, and I turn to see her lift her pack onto her shoulders and set off towards the door.

"Wait," replies Dahlia instantly. "Nobody goes anywhere alone today."

A slight scowl appears on the face of the girl from District Four but she doesn't seem prepared to make a challenge and says nothing. She gets to the door and stops, looking around the room at the rest of us.

"Hurry up then. I'm ready to go."

We do as she says, quickly packing the remaining food into our bags before moving out into the corridor. My heart sinks when I leave the Cornucopia Room, as it always does when I see same bleak and endless pathway that I've seen every day since the Games started. I try to remember Falco's words, telling myself that the sun does always shine even if I can't see it, imagining my bright and airy room in the Training Centre and the huge floor to ceiling window in the dining room that I always used to sit in front of just so I could see the seemingly infinite sky.

The only consolation I can see is that I'm not the only one who is being affected by this place. Even Dahlia has seemed more subdued lately, and the only one who seems truly unchanged is Octavian, who is currently racing ahead of the group towards the nearest staircase. He is just about visible in the dim light and I find myself focussing on him so I don't look to the side to see the walls closing in on me.

I struggle to hide my sudden panic when, out of the corner of my eye, I see Dahlia reach for her belt and take a knife from it, which she quickly throws in the direction of the boy from District Four. It sails past him, missing by millimetres, and a short time later I hear it clatter to the floor somewhere in the shadows ahead of us. Octavian skids to a halt and turns around, his face full of uncertainty and fear he's trying unsuccessfully to conceal.

"Stop running so far ahead," Dahlia snarls, before quickly waving the group on again.

We continue down the corridor in silence, and I drop to the back of the group with Corvinus, unsure as to exactly what I have just witnessed.

"What was all that about?"

Corvinus shrugs his shoulders. "I've no idea. If she'd meant that knife to hit him then he'd be dead though, I know that much."

I grin back at him. "Maybe the mistress likes having the puppy as much as the puppy likes having the mistress."

He laughs at the comparison but shakes his head. "Not her. I grew up with her, there's nothing left inside her that's capable of friendship."

This time I shrug my shoulders, saying nothing further but not quite agreeing. He said it himself, if she had wanted the boy from Four dead than he would be dead, and yet I can hear his laughter drifting back to me, confirming that he most certainly isn't. Then the laughter stops.

"Marcia!"

We all sprint forwards to catch up with him in response to his shout, rounding the next corner in time to see him reach the end of the corridor.

"There was a boy," he says, pointing ahead of himself.

A boy? He must be a very stupid boy to still have been in the corridor after the racket my alliance's own boy had been making.

"What are we standing here for then?" asks Dahlia, pushing Octavian against the wall before sprinting past him.

It doesn't take us long to catch up with our prey, who looks half-starved and clearly isn't going anywhere quickly. It's the boy from District Three, and he looks in worse shape than any other tribute I've seen so far. Making one final attempt to escape, he pulls himself up the staircase, but Octavian pushes past him, racing to the top to block his way. Corvinus and I do the same, standing a couple of steps from the top to look down on the pathetic creature who cowers below us. Marcia quickly climbs the stairs to stand one step lower than us, not quite blocking my view of the boy.

Dahlia and Sheen begin to ascend towards him, and I quickly decide that one of them can have his death on their conscience. It's enough for me to see his little district partner's face in my dreams, I don't want to see him too.

Then, completely without warning, the whole staircase begins to shake and tremble. I grasp the rail, forcing myself to keep my eyes open as it sways from side to side, the creaking noise it makes filling my mind so I can think of nothing else.

"It's going to fall!" shouts Octavian.

The sound of his voice snaps me out of my trance, and I spin around. The staircase begins to crumble beneath my feet, and I throw myself towards the safety of upper floor landing. My hands just clamp around one of the metal railings as the entire structure collapses with an almost deafening bang, leaving me hanging there, holding on with the huge drop below my feet.

A cannon fires and I hear Octavian call his district partner's name. She doesn't reply so he shouts again, and when he still gets no response he shouts for Dahlia as well.

The dust from the collapse gets in my eyes so I can hardly see. I try to pull myself up but I can't seem to find the strength. My vision is blurry but when I turn my head I see that Corvinus has managed to grab hold of a railing on the other side of the balcony, and however inappropriate it might be given the circumstances, I have to fight back the urge to laugh. I bet we look ridiculous to the people watching the Games now. I bet the people back in the Capitol are laughing as they watch this.

Corvinus quickly pulls himself to safety, his upper body strength meaning he doesn't have the same problem as me. He can pull himself up, all I feel able to do is hold on, and I'm not stupid enough to think I can do even that for much longer.

"Whose cannon was that?"

I hear Sheen's voice ask the question, and my panic is joined by disappointment when I realise it wasn't his. The next voice I hear makes my heart sink even further.

"The boy's," replies Dahlia.

I try again to pull myself up enough to be able to hook my foot over the ledge so I can climb up that way, half expecting to hear the whistling of one of Dahlia's knives flying towards me. As I do, Corvinus appears, looking down at me, his expression impossible to read. Instinct makes me struggle harder, knowing that if he wants to finish me then all he has to do is break my grip on the railing. I kick my leg up at the same time as putting all of my strength into pulling myself up.

"I'm not picking you up, Cashmere. You'll have to do it yourself. It's too late in the Games for me to be saving your life."

"I wouldn't want to be in your debt anyway," I tell him, trying to be funny despite how my voice is shaking and how I am also trying to ignore the tears that are rolling down my face.

This time I manage to get my foot on the ledge, and I ignore how the effort pulls all the muscles in my leg as I force my body up just enough for me to be able to roll onto the upper floor, stopping at Corvinus's feet.

I stare up at him for a second before abruptly returning to my senses and jumping to my feet. My leg gives way, refusing to take my weight in protest, and I would have sunk to the floor again if he hadn't caught me.

"You're stronger than you look."

"It's amazing what you can do when you don't want to die," I reply, and my words seem to mean something to him because his eyes become unfocussed and he suddenly isn't looking at me anymore.

"That sounds like something Astraea would say," he whispers.

"She sounds like a sensible woman then, in most respects anyway," I tease.

"Perhaps."

"You could have killed me and you didn't," I say eventually, surprised to find my voice shaking again. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, Cashmere. I don't deserve your thanks now and I certainly won't later."

I don't know what to say to that so I say nothing, and we both step forward to peer down at the wreckage of the staircase. Octavian, who had got to the top of the stairs before they fell, soon joins us.

Dahlia, Sheen and Marcia are there, all of them totally covered in dirt and dust. My district partner and Corvinus's look relatively unharmed but Marcia is hurt, I can see that even though she's trying to hide it. Her top is ripped at the side and I can see the skin beneath is red with blood, as is the hand she has pressed against it. I shudder at the thought of how easily that will get infected in a damp, filthy place like this. Unless she's very lucky, she won't have long left, and I can tell by the look on her face that she knows that as well as I do.

"We can't get down," calls Octavian, looking from his district partner to Dahlia, carefully avoiding Sheen's eyes.

"Walk to the next staircase," replies Marcia. "We'll meet you there."

Corvinus grasps my upper arm and pulls me away from the ledge. "I don't think the boy will have his ally by the time we get to that staircase," he whispers. "She'll have to be an even better actress than you if she's going to hide that wound from Dahlia and if she can't then she's finished."

* * *

The three of us are virtually silent as we make our way to the next staircase. For once, even Octavian is quiet, but predictably that only lasts until we are almost approaching our destination.

"Why did they make it collapse?" he asks from his position on the other side of Corvinus. He still looks more like a child than ever when he walks by my ally's side.

"I don't know," I reply. "It isn't for us to ask why, Octavian."

However, despite my words for the cameras, I can guess really. The boy from District Three was never going to win, and more importantly to the Gamemakers, he was never going to be capable of entertaining the audience. I can see it now, I don't know why I couldn't before. They are biding their time, waiting for the Games to begin properly, using the arena to kill off the weakest until they are all gone and the strong have no choice but to fight. I've seen it happen in previous years so I don't know why I'm surprised.

We turn into the next corridor and immediately see the staircase railings through the open balcony. Octavian sprints forward but Corvinus and I hang back, hands instinctively settling on the hilts of our swords, unsure exactly who will be there waiting for us. When we get to the top of the stairs and look down, there is nobody there but the boy from District Four.

I exchange glances with Corvinus, immediately realising that he's thinking what I'm thinking. What if Dahlia and Sheen really are working together? Dahlia hardly advertises her thoughts and feelings, and Sheen's fooled everyone before so why should we be shocked if he's done it again?

I shake my head slightly, watching Octavian to make sure he isn't listening to or watching us. "There have been no cannons. They'd have killed her, you know they would."

He nods in apparent agreement, but before he can reply, we both spin around to face the staircase again in response to Octavian calling his district partner's name. I hear their feet hitting the stairs before I see them, the clanging noise echoing around the corridor. Then three shadows appear on the wall.

A short time later, Sheen is the first to reach the landing with Dahlia following close behind, proving to me that my initial suspicions were as wrong as I thought they were. She clearly doesn't trust him as far as she could throw him. I take a step forwards to look down the flight of stairs, so surprised that Marcia is still alive that I have to see her for myself.

"Octavian, do you want to tell everyone and everything in this arena where we are? Stop shouting," she commands, and her district partner immediately falls silent.

I try really hard not to be impressed by the girl from Four for obvious reasons, but when I watch her slowly but surely climb the stairs, remaining virtually upright despite her injury, I can't help but feel admiration. She's in pain, I know she is. I can tell from the slight frown that never leaves her forehead and the unusual brightness to her eyes and expression that make me think she's overcompensating as she tries to hide her weakness. But she never falters and she's still alive, which is significantly more than I expected. I like to think that I could act as well as she is if I were to be in the same situation, but I'm not sure that I could. I just hope I never have to find out.

"Hurry up, District Four," snaps Dahlia as she starts off down the corridor again. "Everyone else is as tired as you are. We're going back to the Cornucopia now."

Marcia doesn't reply but continues to follow along at the back of the group, occasionally joined by Octavian, who still seems torn between old loyalties and new.

"This can't last for much longer," I whisper to Corvinus, making sure the others won't be able to hear.

"Is that an observation or a promise?" he whispers back.

"I don't know yet," I reply truthfully.

He smirks and pushes me forwards. "Get some sleep first or it might be over quicker than you think. You look dreadful."

"Pardon?" I retort indignantly.

"You heard me," he replies with a smile. "You haven't slept properly for days and you're covered in staircase dust. But don't worry, Cashmere. I'm sure the Capitol will think you're a very beautiful mess."

I scowl and quickly walk ahead of him, sticking my nose in the air and refusing to say another word. He laughs quietly and pulls me back so I am by his side once more. Neither of us speak again in all the time it takes us to make it to the next staircase, which is the one closest to our final destination of the Cornucopia Room, but I feel slightly better as a result of his teasing words and I think he does too.

* * *

I don't know why we seem to have changed watches, but Sheen seemed to be more shaken up by the staircase collapse than most of the rest of us, and from the way he lay down on a sleeping bag as soon as we returned to the Cornucopia Room, it appears that he thinks sleeping it off is the way forward. I'm surprised by the trust he shows the rest of us by doing so, but nobody else comments so neither do I. Nobody has the energy to fight anymore today. No day in the arena has felt as long and painful as this one, and while I feel so tired that I would love to sleep, I am still too tense, and that is why I volunteered to take first watch. So did Dahlia.

From my position leaning back against the front of one of the sides of the Cornucopia, I look around the room, trying to gather my thoughts and decide what I should do next. Even the previously incessant dripping of water has stopped, and the only thing I can hear is the soft breathing of my allies and the occasional rustle of fabric as one of them moves in their sleep.

Corvinus lies a short distance away, facing me and with his back to his district partner. For a second I can't decide if he's being incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, then I remember his earlier words when he had told me that she is a lot of things but never a coward. He is totally convinced that she will fight him properly or not at all, but when I look past him to focus on her as she sits cross-legged on her usual pile of sleeping bags, tracing the pattern on the hilt of one of her knives with the tip of her finger, seemingly lost in thought, I'm not so sure I feel the same level of trust.

Dahlia lost in thought is something I never thought I'd see, mostly because she always seems so focussed on her victory that it is very easy for me to believe she truly thinks of nothing but surviving and killing the other tributes, but as she stares down at her knife with an almost-smile upon her face, I can tell she is somewhere else entirely right now. I try to make myself look away but for some reason I can't, and I continue to watch her in the dim light for several minutes.

She still looks a mess to me, she always has, even before the arena. She is the opposite of me in virtually every way, but as I watch her, for the first time I start to see what those in the Capitol who don't support me see in her. Her sharp black eyes narrowed in concentration, her hair still falling forwards to partially cover them in a way she somehow doesn't seem to notice, she definitely has something that makes her stand out. It certainly isn't beauty, not the kind I possess anyway, but I can't deny that people seem drawn to her almost as much as they are to me. They love her or they hate her, but they all feel something, so maybe we aren't so very different after all.

"Why didn't you kill me today, Dahlia?" I whisper eventually, my quiet voice breaking her not entirely unhappy-looking trance instantly.

She looks me up and down for a second then smirks slightly. "I've always imagined falling from a great height would be a quick and relatively painless way to die, and the fall would've killed you before my knife did," she says. "So I think you'll understand my meaning when I say I don't want that for you."

I shake my head slightly, realising that I should have known what her answer would be. "That's a relief," I reply with a smirk of my own. "I thought for a second that you'd gone soft, and I wouldn't want that. There are very few things I'm certain of anymore, and your unceasing enmity is one of them. It's reassuring to know it remains constant."

"Never doubt it, District One," she whispers back. "I don't like women like you, I never have."

"And what's that supposed to mean? You don't even know me."

"I know your type, Cashmere de Montfort. Everything I have I've earned myself. I've worked for it because I had no choice, because I'm not beautiful, because I couldn't flick my hair and bat my eyelashes and then have everything handed to me on a plate as a result. I don't think you can say the same, do you?"

I stare at her before replying, my eyes only leaving hers to flick briefly to Corvinus, who opens his eyes for long enough to tell me he isn't asleep at all and is listening to every word of this. "We come from different worlds, Dahlia. The Games has taught me that much. You fight with knives and I fight with words, but we aren't so very different really. I fear loss of control and so do you."

"I fear nothing," she retorts, but there is something in her voice that tells me she listened to my words. "Fear is an emotion and emotions make a person weak."

"So you aren't to feel at all? Is that what your mentors taught you?"

"One of them taught me that, the other didn't. I think I always knew who would be right in the end, even if I almost forgot sometimes."

"You must have had a very lonely existence then," I tell her, knowing that we are never going to see eye to eye on anything. We aren't _that _similar.

"If you can tell me that I don't know you then I can tell you the same in reverse. You know nothing about me and that's never going to change."

I am about to reply when Octavian sits up, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "It can't be morning yet, but everyone's making too much noise. I can't sleep."

"You can't sleep now anyway," answers Dahlia. "It's your watch, so get up."

"I am up," he whines in protest, contradicting his words by lying back down, stretching out so he is half on his sleeping bag and half on hers. She still has her knife in her hand and he's so close to her that she could easily reach down and cut his throat.

Both Corvinus and I watch them closely, and I can sense the shock my ally feels without even having to look at him.

"One of these days he'll push her too far and she'll kill him," he breathes quietly so only I can hear.

"She won't," I reply. "I can tell."

* * *

My first thought is that we are walking down yet another identical corridor, which I suppose we are, but I still can't fight the feeling I have that we shouldn't be here, that we have been here before and should have learnt from past experience not to come back. Dahlia and Corvinus are as silent as I am, and when I look at how tense they are, I realise they are experiencing the same feeling of dread. They don't speak though, and we keep walking. It's only when we turn around the next corner that I realise where we are.

"We have to leave. Right now," I whisper, trying to keep my voice even despite my rising panic.

"Why?" asks Octavian, both my tone of voice and the silent menace of our surroundings totally lost on his childish innocence.

"Because this is where District Eleven died!" I cry out in a frantic rush just as the lights simultaneously dim and flash and we all turn to sprint back the way we came.

"I can't run anymore," gasps Marcia, and every time the lights flash on, I can see her getting slower and slower as we run for our lives away from a threat none of us can identify.

"You have to," urges Octavian, his longstanding loyalty to his district partner appearing to temporarily reassert itself in his panic. "Please. Keep going."

He pulls her down a corridor a short distance ahead of us so I can only see Sheen racing ahead of me as we flee. This passageway is very long, and in the distance I see the lights start to go out, the darkness coming closer and closer. The sound that resembles nails running down a blackboard starts just as the lights around me go out, and I am roughly stopped in my tracks by something shooting across my path. Then the lights go back on.

When my eyes refocus I find myself staring at a rusty-looking metal lattice, which reaches from wall to wall to form a cage that blocks my escape route. I spin around and immediately see there is one on the other side too, trapping Corvinus, Dahlia and I in this tiny space, which is the only part of the corridor illuminated by a single set of wall lights, which shine down on us in a perverse reconstruction of the spotlights we sat under on the stage during the interviews.

"What is this?" shouts Dahlia, banging her fists against the barrier. The middle of it shakes but it remains firmly in place.

"I don't know," replies Corvinus as he looks rapidly around, appearing almost panicked for the first time in my memory.

"It looks like you're about to find out," comes Sheen's mocking voice from the other side of the fence. "Forgive me if I don't wait around."

I turn back to glare at him but he is no longer facing this way. I watch as he sprints off into the darkness, detesting him but also wishing I had his luck. Whatever is going to happen now is what killed that girl, I just know it, and when one of the wall panels starts to rattle I hear a scream that it takes several seconds for me to register as coming from my own lips. Then I quickly realise it had to be me, for I very much doubt even the babies of District Two cry or scream.

I draw my sword and put my back to the barrier. The only thought my brain seems to be capable of processing is the question as to why this is happening. Contained in this cage are three of the most popular tributes in the arena. Why are they doing this? Surely the audience can't be that bored?

"For the love of Panem, Cashmere! Get into formation or you'll die!" snaps Corvinus. "I can't believe District One has as many victors as it does."

I look across to see him and Dahlia standing back to back. He has his sword drawn and she has a knife in each hand, both of them as tense as coiled springs. Scowling in response to his comment, I cross the short distance to join them, forming the third side of the triangle when they both move over in a motion that appears almost instinctive. It seems that the fact we are supposed to be fighting each other has been temporarily forgotten until the new threat we face is revealed.

I step back in shock when the wall panel falls forwards, just registering that neither of my allies react in the same fearful way as I do, before I raise my sword and wait for the inevitable onslaught. I have never seen creatures like those I am looking at now. They are four-legged and as tall as I am, but other than that I don't know how to describe them when all I can see is the two fang-like teeth each one has at the front of it's mouth. Each pure white fang must be a metre long and they all shimmer in the dim light, somehow mesmerising me so I can't think.

"Mutts," hisses Dahlia through gritted teeth. "They must be. I've never seen anything like them."

The one nearest to her seems to respond to her voice, because the second she starts talking it launches itself at her, opening it's mouth as wide as it can, reaching for her throat. She leaps back and raises her longest knife, slashing it across the creature's face as she throws herself to the floor and rolls away. I spin around and sink my sword into it's chest, feeling strangely relieved to be killing a truly horrific monster rather than another like the innocent child whose blood was the last to stain this blade. It crashes to the ground, it's hugely muscular, cat-like body making the floor and the walls shake as it lands. I stab it again to make sure it really is dead, my sword cutting through the brown fur and skin surprisingly easily.

"They can't do this to us!" screams Dahlia, and I have to admit that for once I agree with her.

"Cashmere!"

I look up in response to Corvinus's shout, just in time to yank my blade free of the dead creature and sink it deep into the ribcage of the next one as it leaps over my head. If it hadn't have been for my ally's warning giving me time to crouch down then it would have hit me. With that amount of weight behind it, I wouldn't have stood a chance.

"Come here," he calls. "I need you to watch my back or we'll all end up dead."

I wonder why he calls for me instead of Dahlia, who seems to be as prepared for this sort of situation as he is, which is to say considerably more so than I, but when I quickly look for the girl from District Two as I back towards her district partner, I see her engaged in a private battle of wills with the biggest one of the creatures I have seen so far. They circle around each other, her goading it with her knives and it snarling back in response. If anything, when she looks at it, she looks insulted that the Capitol would subject her to the indignity of fighting such an animal when she was promised human tributes to kill. How much of the appearance is true and how much is part of the performance, I couldn't possibly say.

I don't know how long we fight for, all I know is that I've never been so exhausted, that I've never been closer to simply giving up and leaving my sword lowered. Creature after creature comes through the gap in the panelling, and it's only the ones we manage to kill that remain inside our cage. The wounded and weakened ones return from whence they came and always seem to be replaced by an uninjured one, meaning that the battle starts all over again. One of them managed to sink a fang into the side of my leg, not a deep wound, I don't think, but significant enough that it's now painful for me to put all of my weight on it. I hope the fangs aren't poisonous, but knowing the Gamemakers, I wouldn't be at all surprised if they were. That means I also hope Falco's gathering me a lot of sponsorship money because if he isn't then I won't be leaving this place alive.

I scream again as Corvinus's comforting presence behind me suddenly disappears, my voice cracking through overuse. I hear a loud crash and spin around in time to see him slam into the mesh barrier, making the whole thing bend alarmingly outwards. For a brief moment, I am disappointed to see that it remains intact, but then I focus on my hugely powerful ally and the muttation that has just thrown him across the corridor like he weighs no more than the little girl from District Three who died just after the bloodbath. That makes me forget everything else.

He is still conscious, I can see that much, but he doesn't move and any pain he feels doesn't show on his face at all. Why isn't he getting up? The creature is so close now, poised to pounce and kill. Why isn't he fighting back?

I step forwards, my sword raised, somehow temporarily forgetting that this is the Hunger Games and that therefore he will have to die if I am going to live. I am ready to fight his attacker myself when without warning it springs forward. I call his name but as I dart towards him, the first thing I see is that he isn't lying collapsed on the floor any longer. He is leaning forwards, his left hand buried in the fur at the back of the creature's neck as he drives a knife through it's heart with his right. I breathe a sigh of relief when I realise he was calling it's bluff the entire time, waiting for it to find the confidence to get close enough for him to strike.

"What have I told you?" he gasps, breathless from the effort of fighting for this long.

Whether it's because I understand his words instantly by now or because I sense the presence of the beast behind me, I have no idea, but when I spin around I only just have enough time to sink my sword deep into the creature's body before it can sink it's fangs into mine. Only when that one falls lifelessly to the ground do I realise there are no more. It's over. We've beaten the trap. We're still alive.

"Are you hurt?" I ask Corvinus as I stumble across to him.

He shakes his head but I soon notice that he isn't focussed on me at all. He pulls himself to his feet when I'm close enough to be looking down on him but he still doesn't look at me. Then I follow the direction of his gaze to see Dahlia is still fighting the same creature, the one that looked even bigger and more menacing than the rest of them. Corvinus pulls me closer to him and lets me lean against him so I don't have to put a lot of weight on my wounded leg. I realise how much the arena has changed me when my instinctive reaction is to stay where he puts me rather than jumping away and protesting that I don't need his help.

I return my attention to the final battle in the Gamemakers' deliberately engineered little war in time to see that Dahlia has finally got the better of her genetically modified opponent. She slashes her knife across it's throat, making blood so dark it's almost black spray across the corridor and soak the front of her top.

I wait for her to stop fighting but she doesn't. She stabs the creature over and over again until her forearms are so covered in blood that it looks like she's wearing gloves. As I watch her, somehow unable to look away, I can't help thinking that the ladies of the Capitol would pay a fortune for gloves that colour. Now they have all witnessed this on their television screens, they will probably be preparing to besiege the shopping centres already.

I don't know what to think as I stare speechlessly at her. I suppose I am partly horrified to see the almost impossibly emotionless girl from District Two finally lose control, but I am also partly relieved to see that my opponent is capable of such a human reaction.

"Dahlia, that's enough," interrupts Corvinus eventually, calling his district partner by her first name for the first time in my memory.

She ignores him, not stopping for a second.

"I think it's dead, District Two," I say flatly, and it is my comment that breaks her trance and brings her back to reality.

"It isn't supposed to be like this," she says, not seeming to be talking to anyone in particular, finally falling still, her bloodstained hands resting against the creature's matted fur.

"What do you mean? You volunteered for this, you knew what you were letting yourself in for."

"Tiberius and Enobaria didn't tell me things like this would happen. They only had to fight the other tributes when they were in the arena."

"Tiberius and Enobaria should have known better then, shouldn't they?" answers Corvinus eventually. "You've heard Vikus's speech as often as I have. When you come to the arena you have twenty-five opponents not twenty-three. There are the twenty-three other tributes, but you have to fight your own fear as well. And then finally there's the arena itself, and that's usually the deadliest of them all."

She shrugs her shoulders but doesn't speak, staring unblinkingly down at the dead muttation. I move away from Corvinus, surprised by how shaky I am on my feet once I'm no longer leaning against him, and step towards the nearest of the metal barriers. I push it and it shakes but it doesn't fall, so I rattle it frantically instead. I feel trapped, even more trapped than I usually feel in this place. If we have defeated all of the creatures then why are we still stuck in here? Corvinus pushes me out of the way and tries himself, his greater strength making the whole corridor shake so I could almost think the entire arena is about to collapse. Part of me wishes it would.

The vibrations of the wall panels seem to bring Dahlia back to herself and she quickly gets to her feet and joins us.

"What are we still here for?" she shouts, surprising me with her bravery and how little she seems to care what she says. I can imagine what she looks like on screen, with her eyes shining in the dim lights, her outstretched arms covered in blood almost to her shoulders and a vicious-looking knife in each hand. The Capitol won't want to silence her. The Capitol will be loving this. "Do you want a show or not?"

It seems that they do, because as soon as her final word leaves her lips, the mesh barriers slide back into the gaps between the wall panels, the scratching noise they make somehow sounding less horrifying when we are being released. I'm shocked that she still has the energy and the strength left to run, but she somehow manages to, and when Corvinus follows her down the corridor, I follow him, struggling to keep up because of my injured leg.

It doesn't take us long to return to the pathway that leads to the Cornucopia Room, and all three of us stop outside the door the golden horn lies behind without having to speak, waiting and listening for several minutes before slowly edging forward when we hear nothing.

Dahlia pulls the door open and then jumps back. Nothing happens. Corvinus walks closer, but I hang back. Still nothing happens. Then we hear a harsh and aggressive voice call out to us.

"Who is it?

"It's us, District One," calls Dahlia, pushing the door open even wider and then striding into the room. "I bet you're disappointed to see us alive. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't cut you down where you stand, Coward."

I follow Corvinus inside to see my district partner standing by the entrance to the Cornucopia, a half-rolled sleeping bag at his feet.

"Because you need me," he replies, sounding more like the boy I remember from the Capitol than he has done since we came to the arena.

Dahlia laughs. "Why would I possibly need you?"

"District Four are gone. I haven't heard any cannons since the staircase collapsed."

"Doesn't explain why I need you, does it?"

They keep arguing for what feels like forever, but after a while I stop hearing what they say. If Dahlia hasn't tried to kill Sheen yet then the chances are that his cannon won't fire today. I look around the room without really seeing it. District Four have gone, and that means the Alliance is finished, or if it isn't now then it very soon will be. I have my own issues with District Four, nothing is going to change that, but when they were with us our group was complete. Six tributes equal a Career Alliance, that's the way it works. Now there are four and the cracks that had already started to form have split open. The time has come for the real Games to begin.

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - you're all fabulous (and so is Sister to the Wolf, who I can't reply to - I hope you're reading )). Please do the same for this one, it's the last one before the beginning of the end...**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

It takes what feels like all eternity for Dahlia and Sheen to fall silent, exhaustion finally getting the better of them and stopping the argument I previously thought would only end when a cannon fired. I wait for the inevitable battle to begin, leaning against the doorframe I have gradually edged towards while everyone has been too distracted to notice, but nothing happens. It seems that we have all somehow decided that the battle which will most likely hand the Hunger Games crown to the victor can wait until we've got some rest. I say rest rather than sleep because I doubt any of us would be stupid enough to fall asleep now.

Sheen unfolds the sleeping bag he has picked back up, throws it onto the floor again and flops down onto it. Dahlia takes a bottle of water from her bag and uses most of it to wash the muttation's blood from her hands and arms. She has an intense look on her face that I can't begin to read. She's also clearly confident that her mentors will be able to send her more water, and after the events of tonight, I have no doubt that her confidence will prove to be justified.

Corvinus and I exchange glances before he crosses to the Cornucopia and drags out more of the sleeping bags. He throws what is left of the first aid kit to me and I do my best to clean and dress the wound on my leg, which surprisingly doesn't seem to be poisoned. I struggle for a while but eventually he rolls his eyes and takes pity on me, sitting down on my sleeping bag and re-bandaging me in what he says is the right way. Whether it is or not, I don't know, but by the time he has finished, it looks a lot better than my feeble attempt so I don't contradict him.

* * *

"Are we going after Four then?" asks Sheen, breaking what has been at least two hours of silence.

"No," replies Dahlia immediately. "I've got a score to settle with Seven. If we're having one last hunt before we finish this then it's going to be for her."

"Why is that then, Dahlia?" taunts Sheen. I jerk my head up to look at my district partner, shocked by his daring when our alliance is now so precarious. "Got a bit attached to the little boy after all?"

She denies his allegation furiously and is almost convincing. Almost. Despite how she says she didn't, I suspect she did grow fond of the boy who adored her and only made superficial, childish attempts to hide it. His struggle between his old loyalty to his district partner and his newfound loyalty to the vicious killer from District Two who for some reason seemed to soften slightly in his presence has been noticed by all of us. I seriously doubt the thought has even occurred to Octavian that both his old ally and his new will have to die in the end if he is to go home.

Dahlia might not have seen the boy from District Four in the same way he saw her, but I don't think she will want to be the one to kill him. I have watched both Corvinus and Dahlia closely ever since the first time I saw them as I watched the reaping review on the tribute train, and one of the very few similarities I've noticed between them is the value they seem to place upon loyalty. From what little Corvinus has told me about his life before the Games, I know that I would be shocked if I knew the whole truth of the inherent brutality he and his district partner have been raised with. But the sense of honour they both seem to possess despite all that, or maybe because of it, is partly what makes me believe she's lying. Dahlia might not see Octavian like he thinks he sees her, but that doesn't mean she feels nothing for him, and it certainly doesn't mean she will want to be the one to make the Gamemakers fire his cannon.

"We go after Seven in the morning," snaps Dahlia, the harshness and finality in her voice both interrupting my thoughts and silencing Sheen, for now at least. I'm surprised when she says 'morning', because to me there is no time in this place. For all I know, it could be midday now.

I kick away the sleeping bag I had covered myself with, turning to lie on my other side and finding it no more comfortable than my previous position. It seems even hotter in here now than it was on the first day of the Games as we were waiting for the starting gong to sound, and the air seems damp and so humid that it doesn't seem quite as easy to breathe as it did before. But maybe that's just me realising the end of this game is getting closer. One way or another, it will be over soon.

"If you don't want that then I'll have it," whispers Corvinus, turning around so he lies facing me, easily within reach in the near-darkness.

I snatch the sleeping bag back before he can reach for it and fold it up, putting it under my head like a pillow. He smirks.

"Don't get too comfortable. You might go to sleep."

"Is that a threat, District Two?" I retort, only half joking.

He rolls his eyes at me before nodding in the direction of our district partners. "Not from me, but coming from either of them, it will be."

I don't know what to say to that, but I don't honestly think he was expecting a response anyway. He passes me a bottle of water and then turns away again so I'm staring at his back, which is covered in a criss-cross pattern of scars that I can see clearly through the many tears in his shirt.

"I bet that was painful. Your back's a real mess," I whisper, reaching out as if to touch him but not quite daring to.

"But 'Straea's is flawless, so I don't care," he replies immediately without turning back.

"You were whipped?"

"What makes you think that?" he hisses sarcastically as he turns to face me.

"And she wasn't? You took her place?"

For some reason I can't even begin to comprehend, he smiles. Then he rolls his eyes at what must be the very stunned and confused expression on my face.

"Don't you have someone you'd do anything for?" he asks, his smile not quite disappearing.

"Maybe," I reply, knowing I should think of Gloss but somehow failing dismally to picture anyone but Falco.

"Then surely you understand. Taking the lash for her was nothing."

"And they let you? _She _let you?" I ask, my opinion of his wife declining rapidly at the thought that she would let him take her punishment so she didn't have to endure the pain herself.

"I don't suppose such things happen in District One, do they?" he retorts, mocking me playfully by deliberately imitating my accent. "It's like the Hunger Games in most districts," he continues in his normal voice when I roll my eyes but don't speak in reply. "They're always willing to accept a volunteer, it just doesn't happen very often because there normally isn't one. And she didn't let me take her place. We fought and fought until eventually I locked her in a storeroom as far from the courtyard as I could get her. I still bear the scars from that as well." The smile that never really went away returns in full force. "By the time she got out, it was all over. She didn't know whether to love me or hate me."

"I think she'll know what she feels now," I whisper as reality suddenly hits me even harder than it did before.

I watch as he rolls over onto his back and stares unseeingly up at the ceiling. He knows the end is coming too, and he will stop at nothing to get home. I can almost see him trying to distance himself from me, but I think we both know it's gone too far for that. I will kill him if it's the only way I can get out of this place alive, and he will kill me too, but neither of us can pretend indifference to the other's fate now, we've been stuck in here together for too long.

* * *

I don't know how long I've been lying here staring up at the cold, grey ceiling. It feels like forever but I still don't want to move. Whether it's insanity finally taking me, stress or simple tiredness, I don't know, but I do know that ever since I entered the arena, I haven't been able to picture those I love as clearly in my mind as I can now.

I imagine Gloss sitting on the ancient sofa in his room back home where I know he'll be. He's probably as tired as I am, because I know he will have barely moved from there since the Games started. We were exactly the same last year with Sapphire, unwilling to watch but unable to look away. I wonder if there's a camera in the ceiling that's fixed on my face now, if his brown eyes are meeting my blue ones even though I can't see him.

The thought of returning to District One is what is keeping me going, it's what drove my sword into those mutts, it's what pulled me onto the upper landing when the staircase collapsed. Well, that and Falco and Felix, who are probably watching me too. I hope Falco is still in the Control Room and that he hasn't left me to the mercies of Lace and Topaz. He will probably have done all of his campaigning for sponsors by now, so all he will be able to do is watch and wait. Wait for the Alliance to break, wait for the fighting to begin, for the arena to claim another victim. The only thing I know for certain anymore is that I don't want to die in this horrific place.

* * *

Eventually I give up with lying down because I can feel myself dropping off to sleep. Lying here won't win me the Games, and although nobody seems willing to start the inevitable battle between the four of us yet, there are still tributes out there.

"Going somewhere, Cashmere?" asks Sheen harshly.

I turn to face him, looking closely at him for the first time since we arrived here. He looks tired, his blond hair filthy and plastered to his head, his pale skin now more of a muddy brown colour than its usual almost-white. Still, if I had a mirror then I guess I would soon realise I don't look much better, so I shouldn't really comment.

"We all should be," I reply almost as harshly. "We won't be left alone to rest forever."

"For once you've got a point, District One," interrupts Dahlia as she jumps to her feet with far too much strength and energy for someone who has been in the Hunger Games arena for two weeks. She puts her bag on her shoulder and swiftly heads for the door.

"Downstairs?" suggests Sheen as he follows closely behind her.

She nods and quickly steps to the side so he walks in front of her. "Forgive me if I don't trust you," she says with false sweetness as he stops to look back at her. "You don't have to worry about me though. I promise I'll make sure you can look me in the eye when I kill you."

I rise to my feet and look questioningly down at Corvinus. "Please," I say, holding my hand out to him.

He stares at me for a minute before grasping my wrist as he stands. "I don't have a better idea," he says, "and I imagine I could count the number of people the great Cashmere de Montfort has said 'please' to on one hand, so I should feel honoured really."

"You're impossible," I retort sulkily, but I still let him pull me along after the others.

* * *

The four of us go downstairs together, and soon realise that finding the remaining tributes isn't going to be easy. I try to remember who is left, whose photograph hasn't appeared briefly in one of the twelve death recaps I've seen before they quickly fade forever, and although I immediately think of Octavian, Marcia and Davena, I know there are a couple of others I'm forgetting.

"District Four and District Seven," I say, "but who else?"

"The girl from Five and both from Six," answers Dahlia immediately. "I've no idea how they've lived this long."

Brutal though it is, I can't help agreeing with her. When I try to remember the three tributes I've just been reminded of, I find I can think of nothing. I don't know their names, I can't remember what they look like, and all I know of their training scores is that they must have been low because I can't recall those either. With probably one exception, that of the boy from District Ten who died days ago, one or more of us have either been the cause of or at least present at the death of every tribute whose cannon has fired so far. The only reason those three others have survived this long is because they have proven to be the most adept at hiding themselves.

We keep walking on and on, but still there's nothing. I listen as closely as I can, however all I can hear is the sound of our footsteps and the splash of water that rises up with every step we take. There is no sign of any of the other tributes at all.

Then I suddenly go cold. The splashes of water as our feet hit the ground? That's new. I look down to see that instead of there being the usual puddles of water on the floor, there is now an unbroken layer of water a few centimetres deep that fills the entire corridor. I look at the walls and see continuous trails running down instead of the usual drips.

"What's going on with the water?" I ask of nobody in particular, suddenly feeling very on edge.

"It's nothing," replies Sheen scornfully. "You should be looking for tributes not looking at the floor."

I ignore him and we keep walking for a while, but I can't ignore the water. It's getting deeper all the time and I'm certain that the creaking sounds I can hear aren't being caused by the muttations. These sounds are different, like metal twisting and distorting under the weight of too much pressure. I stop to listen more closely and this time Corvinus and Dahlia stop too.

When it abruptly gets louder, I am almost pulled off my feet when Corvinus grabs the back of my top and yanks me backwards before pushing me back the way we came.

"Get back to the staircase!" he shouts, and just as he does, the gaps between the wall panels expand and water bursts out, drenching us all in seconds.

We race towards what we hope will be the relative safety of the stairs, and all I can think is that the Gamemakers are doing this on purpose. The arena's too big and there aren't enough tributes left. This is their way of driving us together. Either that or they've had enough and simply want to drown us all.

It seems to take forever to get to the stairs, and by the time I can see them, the water reaches up to my waist. I use the wall to pull myself along, knowing that they will be firing my cannon if I can't get there soon because I can't swim. However, there is a reason why the tributes of District's One and Two aren't known for their affinity with water, and as I struggle to look around at the others, I can see that they are doing exactly the same as I am because they can't swim either. Corvinus has the advantage over the rest of us because of his greater height and strength, but even he looks tired now.

I grab the stair rail and partly climb and partly float up to the ground floor. By the time I reach the top, the water level is only a couple of centimetres below the top of the highest step. All of the lights in the basement level go out and a single cannon fires into the silent darkness.

"Who do you think that was?" asks Sheen as we all collapse to the floor, far too exhausted to carry on walking.

"Not Four or Seven," answers Dahlia, not sounding nearly tired enough for my liking. "Davena's too smart and I can't imagine anyone from District Four drowning."

I huddle against the balcony railing, staring down into the darkness below, and don't contradict her. It will be one of the unknowns, some poor unfortunate who had their hiding place downstairs and wasn't quick enough to get themselves out. The disturbing thing is that I can't help thinking it's probably better for them to have died the way they did than to face the alternative. Considering some of the alternatives this place has come up with, drowning seems a relatively gentle way to go.

I've never felt so cold or so tired, and I've never felt more like giving up. I know I was only watching her on the television, but it didn't seem like it was like this for Sapphire. She stayed with the Career Alliance until it fell apart, and then she moved around the arena from one place to the next, picking off the other tributes until there was only one other left. The whole of Panem knows what happened next, but up until then, I don't remember her surviving collapsing staircases, muttations and floods. There is something about this arena, and it doesn't take a genius to work out that the Gamemakers wanted to make it the twenty-fifth and deadliest tribute this year.

"Ready to give up, Cashmere?" asks Sheen, interrupting my thoughts. "Unable to bear the thought of how long it would take your prep team to put you back together again after this?"

"Almost as long as it would take them to fix you," I reply immediately. "Physically anyway, because I think I'm not the only one who realises it would take more than a prep team to fix you mentally."

Dahlia glares at us both equally, not appearing to be on either Sheen's side or mine, and I quickly decide that I haven't got the strength to argue. I wouldn't have said anything if my district partner hadn't spoken anyway.

We sit there in silence after that, and I watch endless droplets of water fall down into the darkness. In contrast to my earlier clarity, when I try to picture my life before I came here, I find that I can't. Everything other than the past two weeks feels like a dream, and even the bloodbath on the first day feels like a distant memory.

"Look," whispers Corvinus, and I follow his gaze up to see one of the silver parachutes falling down.

It slowly floats down to land on my lap, and not for the first time I wonder how they get the direction on them so perfect. We're sitting so close together that it shouldn't be so easy to get them to a specific tribute, especially as they don't look very complicated or like they've been adapted in any way. I suppose they must be, I just don't know what I'm looking for so I can't see it.

"Aren't you going to open it?" asks my ally, interrupting my meandering thoughts.

I do as he says and find a small pot of strawberries and another bottle of water, perfectly ice-cold rather than the horrible lukewarm alternative that I have got used to collecting from the tap at the end of the corridor that leads away from the Cornucopia Room. I smile slightly, having a drink and eating a couple of the berries before putting the rest in my bag.

When I look up, I see that the others have water too, and once again I think that the other mentors are sending them their gifts in response to me receiving mine, as if they are trying to prove that I'm not the only one with support. It should be Lace and Topaz controlling such things but I know they're not, even without the strawberries I would know, but they are what confirms it because Falco always used to get them for me.

It all started when I first arrived in the Capitol and he ordered some for himself only for me to end up eating them all. After that, he would always order them in advance for me and it became a standing joke between us. I smile at the memory, both because of the memory itself and because I realise suddenly that I'm thinking about something other than this arena again.

* * *

Some time later the anthem starts and the seal appears on the wall opposite me. A brown-haired girl who was apparently the one from District Five shows briefly to confirm what we had already guessed, and then she vanishes.

Eight left. That is the first thing I think when the recap finishes with no other tributes appearing. Then I have to try to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach when the second thing I think is that that total includes Corvinus. I wonder where Octavian and Marcia are, and I am shocked when I realise I don't want to kill them either.

Before I came into this arena, I had planned to kill them in the most painful way I could bring myself to, simply to cause Sapphire's killer even a tiny proportion of the pain he caused me. But then I remember Octavian's boyish crush on Dahlia, and Marcia's protectiveness over him and her undeniable courage and level-headed practicality. At some point in here, I started to see them as people, and what's even more of a surprise for me is when I find that while I will always hate him for what he did to Sapphire, I also feel a certain empathy with Finnick Odair. Yes, he killed my sister, but I have killed two people already and the Games aren't over yet. They were someone's brother and sister, someone's son and daughter, and that makes me as bad as he is so I can't summon up half as much hate as I did before the arena.

* * *

I don't know how long the silence continues, but even though Corvinus gets up to sit beside me, turning his back to me so we can lean against each other like we did on the first night in the arena, nobody says a thing to break it. That is why we hear the staggering footsteps that get steadily closer when whoever it is making the sound is still some distance away. I expect the person to stop, to somehow sense that nothing but death with greet them if they get any closer, but the footsteps keep coming.

The completely soaked, visibly trembling and completely oblivious boy from District Six appears at the end of the short corridor that leads to the staircase we surround, sees us and tries to run. He isn't anywhere near quick enough to escape Dahlia, and he falls under a rain of knives that sink into him one after the other. Even tired and shivering as she must be, the girl from District Two doesn't miss her target once.

The boy's cannon fires but Dahlia keeps throwing. At first I think she's lost it in the same way she did when she killed that muttation, but then I notice that she might be aiming for the fallen tribute but she certainly isn't looking at him. Her eyes are narrowed with concentration in that way I have come to recognise, and I reach for my sword at the same time as she switches the angle of her next knife to send it flying across the corridor towards Sheen.

I clearly see the shock on my district partner's face as he dives out of the way just in time, and it tells me that he really did believe they would fight together before they fought each other. I've never liked him and I've never hidden that, but that doesn't mean I'm not surprised by his foolishness. However, he quickly recovers and draws his sword, stepping forward to meet her, ending the Career Alliance of this Hunger Games forever. The corridor is soon ringing with the sound of blades clashing.

As I edge towards the staircase, I turn to look at Corvinus. He stood up at the same time as I did, but other than that, he hasn't moved but simply stands there perfectly still, watching the others as they fight. I continue to back away, sensing that this is about to turn into another bloodbath and quickly deciding that this isn't the time to stay and fight. I don't like to think of it as cowardice, but I suppose some would call it so. There's no way in Panem I can defeat all three of them either together or one straight after the other, and this place has taught me well enough when to swallow my pride and run.

I put my foot on the first step, all the time looking behind me at Dahlia and Sheen, partially to make sure that I'm still being ignored and partially to see who is winning. When I look at them, I couldn't possibly decide.

I refocus my attention on the top of the staircase, intending to quite literally run for my life, but I am abruptly yanked back.

"You watch everyone else's every move but never mine, Cashmere, just like Astraea back home. She has reason to trust me though. You don't."

I stare up at Corvinus, hesitantly reaching for my sword and mentally cursing my stupidity. I almost stop breathing when he reaches out and pushes me back up the stairs.

"Make sure you're ready to kill me if we meet again," he says quietly. "I want to go home but I can't fight the three of you together."

My eyes meet his for a split second, then I spin around and sprint up the staircase, not stopping until I reach the top. When I do, I hear Corvinus's voice drift back to me.

"Which one first then, Dahlia? Me or him?"

I know I should get as far away from here as I can until I decide what to do next, but I can't seem to fight my sudden need to know what happens next. I move only as far as the staircase balcony, crouching down out of sight to watch my former allies below.

It soon becomes apparent who Dahlia chooses because she doesn't pause her attack on Sheen for a second.

"We had a deal, District Two," gasps my district partner as she pushes him back out of my sight, back to where I know Corvinus is waiting.

"There are no deals between the likes of you and me," she tells him, laughing despite the look of intense concentration on her face.

They all vanish from sight then, and I don't dare move any closer in case they see me and I cancel out the advantage Corvinus has just given me. I can hear the fight continuing though, the sound of their swords clashing, of their feet skidding on the stone floor as they move back and forth.

My heart skips a beat as Sheen reappears, sliding rapidly along the floor on his side, only stopping when he crashes into the bottom step almost directly below me. I can't see his face from this angle but I can see the panic he feels from his body language alone. This is the real Sheen, there is no pretence this time. He looks scared because he is scared, and when he half manages to scramble to his feet, I immediately see why. He is unarmed. He can't fight back even if he had the will too.

Then I hear the grating noise of metal scraping against stone. It sounds like the trap we were caught in before, only it isn't metal grilles that appear but a sword, which crashes neatly into my district partner's knees.

"Come on then, District One! Is that all you've got?"

Corvinus's voice is so much harsher than normal that I barely recognise it, and when he finally gets to a point where I can see him from the balcony, I have to bring my hand up to my mouth to stifle my shocked gasp. He doesn't look like the man I know anymore, and it is then I realise that while I've seen him train and fight before, there is a side of him I've never known, the man who has been trained to fight, win and kill since before I was deemed old enough to even understand the concept of the Hunger Games. And yet despite what I can only describe as his battle-rage, the Corvinus I know still remains, for Sheen is now back on his feet with his sword in his hand.

It might not be much of one, but my former ally has given him the chance to defend himself, and I am glad, not for Sheen, but for Corvinus and the girl who is surely watching him from back in District Two. He has kept his honour even in a place like this. The arena hasn't beaten him, whatever happens in the end.

They fight on the staircase for several minutes, and more than once I go to flee when they get too close to my hiding place only for them to travel back in the direction of the ground floor again, meaning I don't have to move for a bit longer. Sheen looks tired, and he definitely isn't winning the battle, but he's still alive, which means he's doing far better than I expected. He's a good fighter, better than me, and as I watch them I suddenly realise exactly how much I am in Corvinus's debt.

The fight continues and Sheen looks more and more exhausted every time he blocks an attack with his sword or jumps out of reach. For some reason I can't begin to guess, Corvinus is prolonging this on purpose, like a cat playing with a mouse, and it seems I'm not the only one who can see that.

"Get on with it, Rossetti!" shouts Dahlia from somewhere away from the area around the staircase and therefore outside my field of vision. "Or is he too much for you?"

"Feel free to finish it," replies Corvinus, somehow locking his sword with Sheen's and spinning both himself and my district partner around so quickly that they become a blur, before pushing a completely disorientated Sheen in the direction of Dahlia.

She has drawn a knife and let it fly before he even reaches her, and a second later a cannon echoes around the arena and the man who fooled us all during the build up to the Games slumps to the floor.

A short period of quiet follows, and I sit temporarily paralysed by yet another horrific scene I know I will never forget. Corvinus disappears from sight and is replaced by a very unfazed-looking Dahlia, who retrieves her knife before rounding on her district partner.

"So where's your favourite ally? You let her go, didn't you?" she snaps accusingly.

"You're braver than I am if you think you could have fought three at the same time. What would you have done?"

She doesn't reply but I see her reach down to grasp the hilt of her sword. I know what's coming next and that's a battle I don't think even District Two's mentors could predict the winner of. All I know is that it's a battle I don't want to and can't afford to be around to witness. Right now, I can't decide what would be worse; Dahlia defeating Corvinus and killing him, or Corvinus defeating Dahlia and then coming for me. I don't know if I could bring myself to kill him now, even if, by some miracle, I got to the point where I had the opportunity.

I push silently back from the railing and creep down the corridor as quickly as I can. I will find out the truth soon enough.

* * *

I drag myself as far from the staircase as I can before my emotions and exhaustion overwhelm me and I simply can't move any further. Almost as soon as I flop to the floor, the anthem starts and the death recap begins. Sheen's face stares back at me for a few seconds and then my district partner vanishes. I don't know what I feel really. I didn't like Sheen and that was no secret, but that doesn't mean I wanted him to die, at least not for any other reason besides the fact we can't both live. The boy from District Six replaces him and then he vanishes too. I didn't even know his name.

And so it begins. I sit there in the same place for hours, staring at the wall as I wait for something to happen. I'll be left in peace for now so I don't have to go anywhere. The biggest battle of the Games so far will undoubtedly be raging somewhere on the floor below me, so all the eyes of the Gamemakers and the rest of the Capitol are sure to be on the pair from District Two. I feel sick at the thought of the whole country waiting to see if my ally lives or dies.

I know I should eat to keep my strength up, but I can't bring myself to, not even when a silver parachute appears from nowhere to land by my side. I haven't eaten properly for days, so I must be hungry, but I can't feel it. All I can think about is what's happening downstairs, and every time I hear even the slightest noise, I tense just in case it's the sound of a cannon firing. Even though deep inside I can still think rationally enough to realise it won't tell me what I need to know, I don't dare to go to sleep in case I miss it.

I must drift off to sleep at some point though, but I shouldn't have worried about missing the sound of cannons firing. When it eventually happens I somehow know instinctively that the battle is over, and the sound echoes all around the arena for what feels like forever, jolting me from my nightmare instantly and making me jump to my feet. It takes me several minutes to return to reality and process what I've just heard. Then I sit back down again. All I can do is wait for the death recap. Then I will know who I'm going to be fighting against. That is if Davena or District Four don't think of a way to get me first.

Then it finally arrives. The moment I have been waiting for and dreading in equal measure. The seal of the Capitol appears on the wall of the corridor opposite me and I wait for the opening chords of the anthem to play. I've never really thought about the anthem before. I just accepted it as part of life in the same way as I accepted the mandatory Capitol-made propaganda programmes everyone in the districts has to watch and the existence of the Hunger Games, but as I hear it now, it suddenly hits me that it will never have the same lack of significance again. Every time I hear it from now on, whether that be once more in the arena before my cannon fires, or many, many times in all the years of my life that follow my victory, the first thing I will think of is these death recaps.

When the seal fades to be replaced by a photograph, I dazedly rise to my feet and stumble across to the wall, already crying in a way I haven't allowed myself to since arriving in the arena before I even get there. I reach up to the side of his face and trail my hand along the cold, damp metal the projection appears upon. Corvinus. The man who became my ally and then my friend. The man who saved my life far more times than I saved his. The man who wanted nothing but to get home to the wife he loved. Dead. Dead by the hand of his district partner. I would know that even if I hadn't seen the fight begin, for who else in this place would have been able to bring him down?

His picture fades and I sink to the ground, lying on my side and tucking my knees up to my chest. I have no tears left to shed, but I keep sobbing anyway. I can't stop. Another parachute lands right in front of my face, but it barely registers in my mind and makes no impact. It can't bring back my friend who didn't deserve to die and it can't take me away from this nightmare either. I cry for so long that I start to find it difficult to keep breathing, and for the first time ever, it occurs to me that maybe I should have stayed in District One instead of volunteering for the Games.

However I push the thought away almost as soon as it forms. I would have died a slower and ultimately more painful death at home than I ever will in the arena. Whatever happens, whether I live or die, for a short amount of time, I lived and felt truly alive, despite the shadow of the arena hanging over me. That thought and the thought of one person in District One and two people in the Capitol who are sure to be watching me now are the only things that make me rise shakily to my feet and move further down the corridor, trying desperately to decide what to do next as I go. I have no loyalties left in here now. It's time to finish this.

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed/favourited :) I'd love to know what you all think of this one too (hint, hint...)**

**Gethsemane, if you're reading then I'm sorry but I had to do it... If it makes you feel better (and shake your head less) then my favourite's dead too**


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

It takes about five minutes for my newfound resolve to disappear without a trace, and about a minute longer before I am once more curled up in a corner, trembling as I hug my knees to my chest, trying to hold back my tears. So much for the girl who had no fear of the arena.

Another parachute carrying water that I don't really need quickly arrives, and I can tell it's Falco's way of telling me to keep going. I look up, knowing that there will be a camera zooming in on my face and projecting my image into the Control Room. I try to smile but I can't. When I see the cold, grey walls of the corridor, I turn away again, unable to bear looking at them.

I can hear the scraping noises that I now associate with the giant, cat-like muttations, but they are coming from a long way from here. I can't seem to feel fear because I doubt I will see them again. It's too late in the Games for them to use the arena to kill any more tributes. Besides, if she is strong enough to kill Corvinus straight after surviving both a flood and a fight with my former district partner, then I'm sure the Gamemakers will have decided that they don't need muttations and hidden traps when they've still got Dahlia.

It is the faint sound of footsteps that finally makes me move. I don't wait to see who it is before racing away down the corridor as quickly as I can go whilst still remaining virtually silent, and I am still wandering the corridors of the upper floor when I pass an almost closed door and hear a faint whispering inside.

They are too quiet for me to make out what they're saying without going any closer but I know I've found District Four. They are the only two tributes left who would still be together. I take a step closer to the door, holding my breath because I am suddenly so tense that I'm certain they will hear even that.

"For the last time, would you just go," says Marcia, her voice drifting through the tiny gap in the door.

"Who will bring you water?" asks her district partner.

"Nobody. That's the point. I'm dying, Octavian. Put me out of my misery before anyone else finds me and then go."

I take a deep breath as I reach down to clasp my hand over the hilt of my sword. It's only then that I notice how much my hand is shaking. If I'm going to go home then I have to do this. I have to kill them. We can't all live. And besides, if I don't then someone else will, and it probably won't be anywhere near as quick and painless.

When I push the door it opens a lot easier than I thought it would, creaking loudly as it reveals the small room beyond. Marcia is lying on a blanket in the far corner and Octavian is crouching down by her side. Both of them turn to look at me and I can see fear in the boy's eyes. I see nothing but acceptance of her fate in those of his district partner.

"So the Alliance is finally over?" says Marcia, sounding surprisingly calm considering the circumstances.

She looks in a bad way. Her skin is unhealthily pale and almost grey-looking, and the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead is clearly visible in the dim light. It looks like that wound she got when the staircase fell didn't heal cleanly after all.

"Yes," I reply flatly. "Corvinus let me go. Dahlia killed Sheen and then she killed him."

"I wondered how you got away."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, irritated by her insulting tone of voice despite the situation.

"You're a survivor, Cashmere, and you're certainly not stupid or lacking skill, but nobody in Panem thinks you can fight as well as them, not even you."

I nod my head once, conceding the point to her. I draw my sword and try to ignore the way Octavian's eyes widen because he knows what's going to happen next.

"Before I came here, I thought I would want to do this, for reasons you know nothing about, but I want you to know that I've changed my mind. I'm doing this because I have to, and I will regret it forever."

Marcia stares silently at me, neither hatred nor forgiveness showing on her face. She looks almost dead already, but that must be the blood poisoning. Octavian looks to her and she nods to the sword strapped to his belt with as much energy as she can summon before nodding at me. Now I understand what upset Corvinus so greatly when he killed the boy from District Eleven. This is what it feels like to face an opponent who can't win, who has to be told what to do next because he is too possessed by panic and terror to think for himself.

I step forward, slashing my sword across Octavian's chest before he can attack me at all. It isn't enough to kill him but it sends him reeling back, his young body and mind unused to tolerating the shock and pain.

Marcia's head jerks to the side in his direction. She doesn't even look at me when I position the point of my blade over her heart.

"He's just a boy, Cashmere," she whispers, still watching Octavian as he struggles to gather his thoughts enough to rise to his feet once more.

"And I'm just a girl, Marcia. A girl who wants to go home."

I put my weight against the sword and a few seconds later, Marcia's cannon fires. I hear rushed footsteps as Octavian races towards her, paying no attention to me in his grief until I pull the blade back and then drive it forwards again. The second cannon sounds and I fall to the ground at the same time as the boy from District Four who was more like an innocent child than a trained Career.

I lie there in that room for so long that eventually the hovercrafts appear to take Marcia and Octavian away while I am still there. I stare blankly ahead of myself as the metal claws lift them up, wishing they would forget that my cannon hasn't fired and that my heart is still beating. Somewhere in the distance, the Gamemakers announce the twenty-first death of the Games. I cover my ears with my hands and try to block it out. I don't want to know anymore.

* * *

I stumble along blindly because I have no choice, just like I have been doing since the day I killed Marcia and Octavian. Every time I stop, I see their faces, which have now joined the ghosts of the boy from District Twelve and the girl from District Three so I now have four haunting my dreams instead of two. I don't know what's worse; seeing them or seeing Corvinus, hearing his voice in my mind, remembering all of the times he helped me. I doubt I would still be here if it wasn't for him, and now he is gone. I know we couldn't have both lived, but I slip a bit further into despair every time I think of him, every time I imagine a girl I have never seen, grieving for the one she loves, a widow before her eighteenth birthday.

I know I should hate Dahlia, for I know she killed him even though I didn't witness his death, and yet somehow I can't. My last words to Marcia whirl around and around in my mind. I am just a girl who wants to live and so is Dahlia. When my kill list is about on a level with hers, I am hardly in a position to take the moral high ground.

For virtually the first time in my life, however hard I try to fight it back, a thought starts to form in my mind. The atrocities that have taken place this year and all those years before; Corvinus's death, Octavian's death, even Sapphire's death, they are nobody's fault but the Capitol's. The Capitol did this and so much more, and yet we let them get away with it. We watch as they slaughter our sons and daughters, our brothers and sisters, all because we have broken one of the laws they created or simply for nothing more than their entertainment. _Panem et Circenses_, Falco had said to me that night before the Games started, Bread and Circuses. I asked him to explain but he had avoided the subject after that. At the time I hadn't thought to push him further, but now I wish I had.

Then I push that thought and all the others as far away as I can. I can't change the world, so thinking such things will get me nothing but trouble. Thinking such things isn't the District One way. All I have to do is get out of here and go back to Gloss. Then everything will be a much better version of normal and we will be free, just like we planned all those years ago.

It is with that thought in mind that I push myself to my feet before bending back down to pick up the bottle of water and packet of crackers that landed by my side while I was mentally somewhere else entirely.

"Thank you," I whisper, knowing a camera will be on my face and that it will pick up my words. My accompanying smile is all for Gloss, Falco and Felix, but the Capitol won't know that.

'Come on, Cashmere. Keep going,' I tell myself as I begin to walk along the corridor.

* * *

I keep going until I'm sure I must be walking around in circles because the arena can't possibly be as big as it seems. I can't really tell though. Everywhere still looks the same so I could have been here once or ten times or even a hundred. I stop to rest for a minute, leaning against the cold metal wall, and it's then that I hear footsteps approaching.

I push myself back the way I came, not wanting to face whoever it is just yet. It's too soon. And if I'm honest with myself then I've had enough of fighting. I know there's only one way out of here but I don't feel like I can face it. That's why I run away as fast as I can while still staying quiet, and I don't stop again until I'm totally lost, hoping that the person who had found me will be lost too. The only recognisable thing I can see is a staircase at the end of the corridor, and even that is a dark blue colour rather than the red I am used to.

I'm still sitting on the floor, curled up against the wall, when I hear the footsteps again. My heart sinks. This is a main corridor, but there are no others leading off it. I have no choice now. I have to fight. I sigh and force myself to breathe evenly. I don't know if I can defeat Dahlia, but I might as well get it over with. There's no point cowering in fear forever, especially as the Gamemakers won't let me. The consequences of their interference are usually much worse than the alternative of confronting each other before they have to force us to.

A shadow appears on the wall opposite me, flickering in the dim light, and I stare at it as I push myself to my feet and get ready to fight for my life. Just as it registers that the person making that shadow is too tall to be Dahlia, Davena steps out into the corridor and I am temporarily too stunned to move. It isn't that I'd forgotten about her, because I hadn't. I suppose I just didn't expect her to be the one to hunt me down, I didn't expect her to start the fight. The sound of her footsteps should have told me it was the girl from District Seven though, for Dahlia is virtually silent when she moves. If it had been my former ally then I would have seen her before I heard her and I feel annoyed with myself that I didn't realise that.

Part of me expects Davena to turn and run from a fight she can't win, but then the rest of me realises that she won't. The first day of training when she gave Dahlia as good as she got taught me enough about her personality to know that, and when she takes a step forward, it isn't her movement which surprises me but the way I suddenly feel like I want to run instead. It isn't because I fear Davena, because however brave she is, I am trained and she is not, but because this is a death I never wanted on my conscience. Why me? Why couldn't she have found Dahlia instead? Why couldn't she have _been_ Dahlia? At least the girl from District Two volunteered for this.

"You can't win this fight, Davena," I call, not really knowing what I expect her to do or say in return. It isn't like she can walk away, because if she does then she isn't going home either.

She stares at me for several minutes. "Nothing is certain in this place, District One. I won't disgrace my family by not trying, not when I've come so far."

I draw my sword and take a step towards her, finally acknowledging that there is no way out of this. "What are you going to do? You have no sword."

"I'll fight you the District Seven way," she replies, stepping forward with nothing more than the wooden post she had before. I don't think I've ever seen so much courage from one who can't hope to win. "I have no choice. Not when the alternatives are giving up and waiting for the arena to finish me off or finding District Two and having her to torture me for hours before she finally kills me and ends up doing the same to you."

"I'm going to beat Dahlia too," I tell her, sounding much more confident than I really feel.

"Do _you _even believe that?" she asks, but then she charges towards me, not giving me the opportunity to answer.

We have barely been fighting for seconds when I begin to drive her back towards the staircase. She's strong and determined but I've trained for years and she hasn't. I don't doubt that she's feared in her home district but it's obvious she's never fought someone like me before. Even as I bring my sword down yet again, my heart sinks when I realise I will be in her place when I fight Dahlia.

Time seems indeterminable in here for the majority of the time, but I am almost certain that our confrontation is over very quickly, and I soon have Davena with her back against the wall opposite the staircase, my sword resting lightly on her chest. She stares at me defiantly, just as I knew she would.

"Any last words?" I ask her, deliberately making my voice harsh even though I actually only want her to have the opportunity to say her final goodbyes to her family through the cameras.

"Who said I'm finished?" she shouts as she pushes my blade to the side and lunges forward.

I jump to the side in time to avoid being knocked to the floor, which was undoubtedly her intention, and she spins back to face me. I race towards her and she steps back, but as I raise my sword, I suddenly find I have no target to aim for.

I hear her scream and the whole staircase shudders as she tumbles all the way to the bottom. I peer down to see her lying half on the floor and half on the lowest step, both of her legs twisted at unnatural angles. Her features are equally as twisted in response to her pain, but as I tentatively make my way down towards her, she glares viciously at me.

"Come on then, Career," she snaps immediately. "What are you waiting for? Don't you want another name on your Kill List?"

I look down into her green eyes for several minutes and she stares right back at me. I can't believe this is happening to me again. This is like Marcia and Octavian all over again, and like the little girl from District Three before them. I know that I have to kill her, but I've come to respect her and I really don't want to. But I have no choice. I want to live. I draw my sword and place my foot carefully on the bottom step.

"For Panem's sake, District One, just get on with it," she snaps, her eyes flickering nervously to the sword. "I didn't think you were the sadistic type. If I'd wanted that then I'd have followed District Two."

"I'm not," I reply.

I continue to stare at her, suddenly thinking that maybe she didn't think she was going to win after all. Perhaps she merely thought that compared with her other choices of Dahlia or the arena, I was her best option, the one that was least likely to result in her pain and suffering. As I take a deep breath and lift my sword to hover above her throat, I decide she was probably right.

"Wait!" she cries. "Please!"

I let the sword drop to the side so the tip of the blade rests on the stone floor next to her ear.

"I can't let you live, Davena, you know that."

"I'm not stupid enough to think I'm going home in anything other than a wooden box, District One," she says, sounding frightened but as resigned to her fate as Marcia did. "I just want the chance to tell my family that I'm sorry. I tried, I really did. I hope they remember me how I was, not how I am now. I hope they tell Abelia about me. She's only three, so she'll forget me soon enough. Stupid staircase," she finishes, hitting the nearest metal step and wincing as a result. "Stupid me for falling."

I don't know what to say to that so I just stare blankly at her for several minutes. I guess Gloss was wrong when he said I have an answer for everything. Deep inside I know that she wouldn't have won our battle even if she hadn't fallen down the stairs, but it still doesn't seem like a fair way for someone like her to go.

"I'm sure they're watching you and know how hard you tried to get back to them. I'm sure they love you as much as you love them," I offer eventually.

"Thank you," she whispers back. What's she thanking me for? I'm about to take her life. "What's your name?" she asks. "You know mine but I don't know yours. I don't want to call you 'District One' and I don't think 'Deadly-Beautiful' sounds all that appropriate coming from me." She smiles at that and I wonder how she can joke about things, how she can speak to me so casually.

"I've heard that before," I tell her as her words remind me of the man I met in the lift after the interviews. "He died at the bloodbath but I don't know who killed him. It wasn't me." For some reason, I want her to know that. I get the impression it matters.

"I knew him, sort of. Before the Games, I mean. We worked together sometimes. He got on my nerves but he was a good person who always knew he wouldn't make it. He was so scared but he used to joke about everything. Some of the things he used to say…" She trails off with a smile before continuing. "He always said that he didn't want to know anyone's name because that would make them more real to him. He called you 'Deadly-Beautiful'. Then I suggested that District Two should be just 'Deadly', but he said 'No, that's not fair. If it wasn't for the fact she'd kill me if I got within throwing distance of her then I wouldn't turn her down either.' The names stuck though," she finishes with a tired and fading laugh.

"My name's Cashmere," I say with a half-smile, narrowing my eyes when she laughs again, sounding even weaker this time. "I don't see what's funny about that."

"I know," she says softly, just before I turn to face the direction of the footsteps I know she can hear too.

"Do it, Cashmere. Don't leave me to her."

I nod and rise to my feet, raising the sword before closing my eyes and quickly dropping it down. I am already racing away from the staircase when her cannon fires.

* * *

I stumble blindly down the corridor until I reach the next staircase, the tears I shouldn't be shedding preventing me from seeing clearly. I didn't think it would be like this. When I was a young girl with her dream of freedom, the last thing I imagined would be the image the nation must be seeing now.

I drag myself up the stairs and then keep walking, refusing to let myself stop until I reach the place where we saw Davena for the first time since the Games began. That was nine days ago. Has it really been such a short time?

I feel like I've been trapped in this place for all eternity, and recently when I have tried to remember life outside the arena, I have been horrified to find the images my mind pictures are not as vivid as they used to be. Only my rock solid grip on my district token, the reassuring pain that comes from my dagger digging into my calf, and the memory of the promise I made to Gloss enable me to maintain my tenuous hold on what's left of my sanity.

I curl up on the floor of the most distant corridor I can find. I don't even have the strength to cry anymore, but that doesn't stop me from picturing Davena's grieving family, wondering if it is worse for them to see her die after she had got so far than it would have been if she'd fallen at the bloodbath. I imagine it would be, because as she was one of the only three tributes left, they must have felt some hope that she would return to them even if they tried to fight it and tell themselves it was just an impossible dream.

Then at that thought, reality suddenly hits me. There are only two left now, myself and the woman I think I always knew would be my final opponent. District One versus District Two. The Beauty versus the Fighter. Cashmere versus Dahlia. The show the Capitol has been longing for ever since the day of our reaping.

I don't want to fight Dahlia. I don't even know if I _can _fight Dahlia, but as I look up at the cold, grey corridor that surrounds me, I realise that anything has got to be better than being imprisoned forever. Even death must be better than this. And besides, if we don't make the effort to find each other and finish this, then the Gamemakers aren't going to show such reluctance. I only hope that they leave me alone so I can rest for a few hours.

I have no idea what state Dahlia's in, but I doubt I could find the strength to fight the weakest tribute in the arena. The weakest tribute who was in the arena, I correct myself. Right now, the weakest tribute in the arena is me, and when all I feel in response to that thought is a dull sense of resignation, I know the only choices I have are to fight or go mad.

* * *

"Get up, Cashmere," says the voice in my dream. "Butterfly, you have to move," continues another voice, and neither of them allow me to remain in the peaceful oblivion of sleep after that.

I open my eyes, reaching for my sword, and am almost on my feet before I realise there is nobody there. Not Gloss or Falco, not even Dahlia, just the usual bleak silence. I sit back down again and eat the rest of my food. Then I put my water bottle and purifier in the smallest of my two bags and leave everything else behind under a metal sheet. This will be over very soon, one way or another, and I'm disadvantaged enough without the weight dragging me down.

I do my best with my appearance, more to occupy myself than because I have any real hope of looking anything like I did before I came here. I'm delaying the inevitable out of fear, I know I am, but only when I have combed every last knot out of my formerly golden and now filthy hair with my fingers, do I lift up my bag and head off back in the direction of the staircase.

* * *

As soon as I left my corner of the arena, I quickly realised that I have no idea where Dahlia is. It might be a self-contained building, but this place is huge, and with the exception of the still-flooded basement level, my remaining opponent could be anywhere.

I have been walking the now familiar but no less claustrophobic corridors ever since, initially returning to the Cornucopia and the empty room it's contained within, but leaving soon after when I found the place was haunted by far too many memories that make it impossible for me to maintain the concentration I will need if I am even going to challenge the girl from District Two who has already finished the two other best fighters in the Games.

I probably shouldn't indulge myself when I still have my biggest battle left to fight, but as I make my way to the staircase so I can go back upstairs, I find myself daring to imagine my victory. It is a very idealised version, for in my mind, Gloss is waiting on the hovercraft which arrives to take me away from this living nightmare, and when we land, it isn't in the Capitol but in District One, but I am nevertheless still able to throw myself from the craft the second it lands and race over to Falco and Felix, who stand there with open arms, waiting for me to return.

I think of Sapphire, wondering if she can see me now. I don't know what she'd say, but I hope she would be glad I won my freedom by choosing the arena. I don't feel very proud of myself now, not now I have done everything I've done as I've fought for survival, but when I picture Gloss's face and imagine how my victory will be freedom for him, I know I can carry on for just a bit longer.

I know what I have to do. I have to go back upstairs and rest for a few hours and then I have to find Dahlia and finish this. Already I can hear my brother talking to me. How long will it be before I start seeing him as well? If I don't end this then I'm slowly going to go mad.

I reach the staircase and put my foot upon the first step, thinking how I would give anything to see daylight, to see the sky. The memory I suddenly recall of Gloss, Sapphire and I racing through the park in District One as children is so startlingly vivid that I can almost hear our laughter.

That's why I'm not concentrating and therefore why I fail to hear any approaching footsteps until a very whole and healthy-looking Dahlia appears at the top of the stairs. The wall lights flash rapidly on and off a few times behind her, throwing her features into alternating light and shadow, making her look like one of the warrior queens out of the ancient book of fairytales and legends Sapphire used to read to me when we were young and I couldn't sleep.

"It was always going to be you and me, District One," she calls, radiating menace as she draws two knives from her belt.

"Beauty and the Beast has a certain ring to it, don't you think?" I taunt in return, determined to put on a show and not go down without a fight.

Instinct makes me start to move before she can even raise her arm to throw, and the knife that leaves her hand clatters into the wall I had been standing in front of just after I dive out of the way and out of sight. My brief respite will last only seconds though, so I need a plan. I need to do something to give me an advantage over her, because at the moment, she's the one who definitely has the odds in her favour.

I know I'm really losing it when my mind suddenly drifts back to my memory of running around the park as a child. However when I hear Gloss's voice laughingly calling to me to run as Sapphire chases me, I know what I have to do. The first step to gaining an advantage over Dahlia is to take some of her advantages away, so with the memory of my brother's voice still echoing in my head, I swallow my pride and run.

I run away along the narrow corridor towards the Cornucopia Room, knowing that Dahlia will follow me. I hate running from her, but to leave my opponent with the massive advantage of the higher ground of the staircase is suicide, so I have no choice.

I can hear her footsteps behind me when I throw open the metal door and race into the vast room. I skid to a halt at the edge of the relatively flat and open space that surrounds the entrance to the Cornucopia, turning around just in time to see Dahlia appear in the doorway. I expect her to laugh at me, to think I fled out of fear, but she doesn't. She simply stands there, watching me with her head tilted slightly to one side, her almost black eyes narrowed in concentration.

"That's smart, District One, but it won't save you."

"It might," I retort, just managing to speak before she charges towards me.

I sprint forwards too, raising my sword to meet hers. All I can think is that I don't want to make this easy for her. Sapphire fought until the bitter end and I'm determined to do the same. If I never see him again then I want Gloss to remember me with pride.

I am almost knocked off balance by the level of force behind her first attack. She's shorter than me but she's so much stronger, and my training is nothing compared to hers. She moves so quickly that it's all I can do to keep up with her, and I know straight away that I've never fought anyone like her before. As I thought, she is to me what I was to Davena, and I hope my rapidly rising terror doesn't show on my face.

Then as abruptly as she charged forwards, she backs away, and we circle each other warily.

"I'm going to have to defeat you, Dahlia, for your stylist's sake as well as my own. Imagine what that poor man must be feeling, knowing that only one girl stands between him and having to make you presentable for polite company at least fourteen times."

"You think you're funny, don't you, de Montfort?"

I look at her properly then, my focus returning at the replacement of 'District One' with my name for the first time, unsure why she is making what, from her, I take to be a concession of some kind. To be honest, I don't think I'm funny, but the Capitol will, and keeping them on my side is what matters. After over two weeks in the arena, I don't think there's all that much to choose between us when it comes to appearances, but the fact I have grown to respect this fierce and deadly woman despite how I despise her for having my friend's name on her Kill List is irrelevant and must be kept that way. The Capitol must have it's show, so the show must go on. I think we both understand that.

"I try my best," I reply, and her eyes flash in response.

I had hoped my words would anger her to the point where she loses focus, but as she stops her pacing to race towards me once again, she is still frowning slightly, deep in concentration.

We both pause when suddenly every light in the room starts to flash on and off, but Dahlia is that little bit quicker than I am to recover, and is able to cut my arm in the same place she did on the day of the bloodbath before I can raise my sword to block her.

One second I can see her and the next we're in total darkness. Why are they doing this? Are we not being entertaining enough? Do they want me to fight for my life with slightly more dramatic flair?

But then just as I am thinking that the Gamemakers are out to get me killed, I realise it's suddenly a bit easier to meet Dahlia's attack and that abruptly the battle isn't quite as one-sided.

I almost smile when it occurs to me that the lights are flashing because they don't want the fight over, because they want me to have a chance. I take a deep breath and start to do what I've done all my life when I've fought, and that is to dance. I spin and jump from one place to the next, never staying in the same place for long enough to still be there when the lights go back on, and after what could be hours or merely minutes, I feel a slight resistance from my blade as it drags across Dahlia's thigh, when for once, she is the one who isn't quite quick enough.

She glares at me but doesn't give any other indication that the relatively deep wound I just inflicted upon her is causing her pain. I guess all natural human responses to pain are trained out of children in District Two at the same time as they learn to walk. Therefore I'm not at all surprised when the fight begins again.

* * *

This time I'm sure we really have been fighting for hours, because it's getting to the point where every movement is unbearably painful. Even after all of the time that's passed, neither of us has anything worse than superficial wounds, but I can't go on forever and Dahlia can't either. Then just when I think I can't hold on any longer, the girl from District Two truly surprises me for the first time.

"This has gone too far for them to sound a cannon when one of us dies of exhaustion. Give it a few hours and then we'll finish this properly," she gasps, her attack considerably weaker than before but never faltering even as she speaks.

I nod, far too tired to reply, and she backs away out of the room. I stand there for several minutes, my sword still raised, not quite trusting her words. Then I hear the sound of something hitting the floor behind me and turn to see a silver parachute completing its journey to the ground.

Deciding that if Lace had been going to kill me then she'd have tried it a long time before now, I relax slightly and stumble over to it, just managing to get there when my legs give way and I collapse in an undignified heap on the floor. Falco wouldn't have let them send it if Dahlia was lying in wait for me to drop my guard, so I know I have some recovery time.

I open the parcel attached to the parachute to find several small packets of high-energy food and a bottle of some kind of sugary drink that I'm sure is designed with the same purpose in mind. It certainly isn't made because it tastes good, but I force myself to finish it anyway. Then I find some antiseptic cream and some assorted bandages and dressings, which I use as best I can to treat my wounds. That only makes me think of Corvinus, of how he was the one who tended my wounds before, always telling me how useless I was at doing it myself. He had a point, I think to myself as I look down at my wounded and very poorly bandaged arm in attempt to distract myself from the fresh wave of grief and fear that threatens to overwhelm me.

"That's time enough," calls Dahlia, her voice cutting through my thoughts. "I'm ready to kill you now, de Montfort."

I look up at her and pull myself to my feet. My sword feels so heavy and she looks so strong. It's only the thought of Gloss, Falco and Felix and how they must be watching me now that stops me from throwing my weapon to the ground and giving up. But I can't give up. I have to fight and I have to live. For myself, for them and for Sapphire, because it's what she wanted.

"You can try, _Vilani_," I reply, sounding more confident than I could have dared hope for as I emulate her and address her by her last name like Corvinus always used to. It feels wrong. She doesn't seem to notice.

And so the fight begins for the second time. The lights don't flash this time, like the Capitol doesn't want to miss a single second of this and therefore won't allow the Gamemakers to repeat their earlier performance, and that makes it much harder for me.

I start to move one way and change direction at the last second, trying to unbalance Dahlia enough for me to break through her guard. For a second I think I've succeeded, but then I double over in pain and shock as I look down to see one of her knives buried to the hilt in my abdomen. I've never known pain like it. It sears through my body like a red-hot flame, blinding me to all else. I stumble backwards, falling until I crash into what can only be the side of the Cornucopia. I can't see it. All I can see is the pain.

As I force myself to open my eyes, I can just about see Dahlia through my agony. She stands over me, smiling at the knowledge of her certain victory as she raises her sword above her head in preparation for bringing it down to finally end this battle and finish me off for good.

I'm in so much pain that I can hardly think straight as I press my hand against the wound, my fingers twisting around the knife handle and quickly becoming sticky with blood.

At least she's going to end it quickly. We've come too far for her to prolong this, I've earned that much from her and I have to be grateful for that. At least those I love won't have to watch me suffer and it will all be over quickly.

However despite my thoughts, my body and its irrepressible survival instincts have other ideas, and I find myself tucking my legs up and scrambling backwards even though I have nowhere to go.

She lowers the sword towards me and the blade suddenly catches the light and reminds me of the huge front teeth of those muttations. We'd all fought together then, and I remember how she'd lost control when it was all over, how Corvinus and I had fought back to back, how I'd thought he was dead until…

I reach the short distance to my boot and yank the dagger free, bringing it up and reaching forward to drive it into Dahlia's chest in one movement. I see the shock on her face as her sword clatters to the ground and then everything suddenly starts to spin. I fall backwards, crashing back to the ground, and a second later, Dahlia collapses forwards on top of me.

"You're smarter than you look, de Montfort," she whispers in my ear, her breath tickling my skin as she exhales softly for the last time.

A cannon fires. I vaguely hear a fanfare of trumpets that sound like they're coming from a great distance away, before everything goes black and I know no more.

**I didn't think I'd get this far but that's it, the end of the arena... Thanks to those who reviewed last time :) I'd love to know what you think of this chapter, whether you've reviewed before or not... ;)**

**And I'd also like to thank be-nice-to-nerds - she knows why :)**


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

It feels strange, like I'm floating on air, like I'm partly on the ground and partly somewhere else entirely. I want to stay asleep but I know I can't. I've been asleep for too long already. I have to wake up. I have to wake up now.

"Cashmere? Cashmere, can you hear me? Cashmere, wake up."

I can hear the voice like it's coming from a great distance away. I try to open my eyes but my eyelids are so heavy that it takes me several attempts before I succeed. When I do, my vision seems distorted and blurry. My head feels fuzzy and I can't think clearly enough to speak, however hard I try.

"Gloss?" I manage eventually. "What happened? Where am I?"

The voice I hear is stilted and stuttering. It sounds nothing like my proper voice, but it gets stronger with every word. The focus gradually returns to my vision and I see that the man I thought was my brother isn't who I thought he was just as he starts to speak.

"Not yet," he says. "Later. When you're feeling better."

"Falco?"

He smiles before leaning down and kissing my forehead, his lips barely brushing my skin. "It's good to have you back, Your Majesty," he says, his smile widening as we both remember the words I spoke on the tribute train after the reaping.

"I won. I told everyone that I would."

Confident words, but the voice that says them sounds more stunned than anything else.

"You did. You came back to me."

"To you?" I ask, even the slight effort needed to remain awake for this short time making me feel totally exhausted.

He smiles and shakes his head. I focus closely on his black eyes as a way of keeping my own eyes open, and I notice how tired he looks. He looks like he hasn't slept for days and his suit is creased, a clear departure from his usual immaculate perfection.

"How long have I been here?" I ask, still unsure exactly where 'here' is.

"Four days," he replies cautiously, almost like there is more to say that he is avoiding talking about and I can't quite remember.

I try to sit up but as soon as I do, everything starts to spin. He reaches forwards and pushes me back down.

"You have to rest."

"You should take your own advice," I retort, but I don't have the strength to argue any longer. All of my questions will have to wait.

* * *

The next time I wake up, I can remember everything. It all comes back to me in half-waking nightmares that are so real I remember every detail. The boy I killed at the bloodbath. The little girl I stabbed through the heart as the whole nation watched. The muttations. Marcia. Octavian. Davena. Dahlia. Corvinus.

My eyes fly open and the deafening noise of my own screams fills my ears. I frantically scan the room but all I can see is the metal walls, the enclosed space, the total lack of natural light. I can't lie here. I have to get up. I have to fight. If I don't fight then I'm going to die.

"Cashmere! Cashmere, stop!"

Strong arms push me back, holding me down when all I can think of is escape. I fight and fight but I'm too weak. People flood into the room and the force that was pinning me to the bed suddenly vanishes. Somebody else makes a grab for my arm, syringe already raised, but I'm too quick. I lash out and whoever I hit cries out in pain. I look across the room, over the white-coated swarm, and then I see him.

"Falco! Falco!"

He continues to push past everyone else as I fly off the bed towards him. I try to stand but my legs give way, so he lifts me up and pulls me away from the White Coats.

"Do you really think all of you crowding her is going to help!" he yells when they surge towards me again.

"She is a danger to herself, Mr Hazelwell. Surely you can see that?" replies the nearest White Coat, whose razor-sharp, surgically perfected features bring yet more memories flooding back. I turn away and bury my face in the collar of Falco's jacket, which they seem to take as further confirmation of my instability.

"Don't make me stay here. Please. The walls," I continue, breathless and struggling to get my words out as I gaze imploringly up at the only person who can save me. "There's no light in here. It's like There."

He nods once to me and then turns back to the man in the white coat. "She can't stay here. I'm taking her upstairs."

"You can't," replies White Coat, valiantly trying to keep his voice steady as he visibly quails under the fierceness of Falco's gaze. "She isn't well enough."

"At risk of repeating myself, she isn't going to get better if you keep her drugged into oblivion and locked away down here."

"But nobody can see her like this. Think of the consequences. She needs more time to…recover."

"Nobody is going to see her but me. You can escort us to the lift yourself and make sure we stop nowhere else but the first floor. If she isn't well enough then I will bring her straight back," he continues, his words sounding like a concession even though I'm with it enough to tell from his tone of voice that I would have to be unconscious before he returned me here.

"I'm sorry, Mr Hazelwell, but it's out of the question."

I tense again and shiver at the menace behind Falco's reply. "President Snow has scheduled the Victory Ceremony for tomorrow. If Cashmere doesn't leave here then she won't be fit to attend, and as you well know, that could have potentially dire consequences for the one who hindered her recovery."

I have never left a room so quickly. With me wrapped tightly in a thick woollen robe and firmly ensconced in Falco's arms, we reach the end of the narrow, enclosed corridor in less than a minute, closely escorted by a very subjugated-looking White Coat. I shut my eyes and try to stop my ears from listening for the sound of dripping water, but I can feel myself trembling, I can feel the blind panic rising up inside me again.

It gets worse when the lift doors slide open and Falco steps quickly inside, presumably before the White Coats can change their minds.

"Stay with me, Butterfly," he whispers as the doors slide shut. "Not long now."

I look up at him then, his use of the nickname he gave me when we first met on the tribute train jolting me out of the arena and back to what I can just about understand is the present. He looks how I remember him now. Much to my relief, the man from a few minutes ago who spoke of the president and his wishes with such easy familiarity has vanished.

"You still frighten me when you go all Capitol," I tell him before quickly looking away again. They must have given me something to make me stay asleep for four days, and whatever it was must still be in my system, making me say what I should really only be thinking.

He laughs, just quickly, and I wish he wouldn't stop. The sound reminds me of before, of back when everything was simpler and less painful.

"I'm always 'all Capitol'. I was born here," he says, sounding amused rather than angry.

"But you get that look and your voice changes," I reply, unable to resist, especially as I know he's deliberately trying to keep me talking and keep my mind on reality. "It's scary."

He smiles but doesn't reply because the lift bell rings and the doors glide open. I look away again when I'm faced with yet another windowless corridor but he keeps walking, stopping only to push open the dark wooden door when we reach the end.

He sweeps through what I vaguely recognise as my district's level of the Training Centre building and kicks open the dining room door. He flops down onto the sofa with me still in his arms.

"Better?"

I hear him but I don't reply and I don't look at him. I gaze out of the massive window as the sunlight streams down onto my face, not daring to blink in case it's taken from me again.

* * *

The clock on the mantelpiece strikes twelve for midday before I finally tear my gaze away from the sky. Falco tells me we've been here for nearly three hours, but it doesn't seem like we have to me. I turn around slightly and he pushes me up, thinking that I want to stand. I immediately turn back and throw my arms around his neck so he can't push me away, but a second later I force myself to let go. What has the arena done to me? Since when did I react like this?

"It's alright, Cashmere," he whispers softly. "You can't be expected to recover straight away. You can't expect to be as you were before, not yet."

I rest my head on his shoulder again, feeling a rush of appreciation for this man who at least acknowledges what really happened to me in the arena even if he seems reluctant to talk about it. From what little I saw of the white-coated medics on the rare occasions I wasn't sedated into oblivion, if it wasn't for my own memories of the reality of the arena, I could have been forgiven for thinking I had suffered a mild fever or a cold, nothing more. I can't make up my mind if they thought denial would make me heal more quickly or if they are simply as oblivious to the truth of what I endured as I was to my surroundings when I was on the medication.

"Thank you for abducting me," I tell him after several minutes of silence.

"You're welcome," he replies, and I can sense the smile I can't see.

"Where is everyone else? Where's Felix?"

He laughs. "Everyone thinks you're still downstairs. Topaz and Lace will hear all about your abduction and show up eventually. Felix is finishing your dress. He'll be here tomorrow."

"I thought he'd designed it already. That's what he said in the Launch Room. Or was he just saying that to make me feel better?"

He shakes his head. "No, he had done it. But then he had an idea that I helped him with a little bit and it was altered slightly."

I nod, part of me wanting to ask him more and the rest of me not wanting to confront the prospect of the Victory Ceremony just yet. I sit up and look around the room to see that everything is exactly as it was before. I don't know why I expected it to have changed really, but I did. Probably because I have changed so much myself. I shiver as I put my hand on my stomach, instinctively finding what I know is the place where Dahlia's knife was only days before even though there isn't even a hint of a scar remaining. Then my attention is drawn to a pile of newspapers that lie on the small table in front of the sofa, and I reach out to take the top one, my eyes never leaving Falco's as I temporarily ignore the suddenly anxious look on his face.

"They could have come up with a better headline," I say eventually, with something that vaguely resembles my old mocking arrogance, clinging onto one of the few things I can focus on that doesn't bring the nightmares back as strongly as I hold up the paper to Falco without impeding my own view of it.

I am somehow hypnotised by the photograph of a bedraggled and filthy-looking girl only barely recognisable as myself, who is standing in front of the Cornucopia with Dahlia standing in the doorway. Even the rather unimaginative headline of 'Cashmere if You Can', doesn't distract me for long as I find myself staring fixedly at the girl who died lying across me with my dagger through her heart.

As ever, Falco sees straight through my attempt at masking my true feelings and takes the paper from me, throwing it to the floor and pulling me close to him once more.

"It might help you to talk about it," he says, speaking in an almost hesitant voice that doesn't sound quite right coming from his lips. "I will listen to whatever you want to say, you know that."

"I know. I just can't, not yet. Not until the ceremony and the interview are over. I have to hold it together until then."

"Keep the performance going for a little bit longer?" he says dryly.

"The show must go on," I retort, mimicking his tone of voice and smiling for the first time in as long as I can remember.

Then my heart skips a beat and Falco's grip on me is all that stops me from jumping to my feet as the door swings violently open and bangs against the wall.

"So this is how it is then? How it always was? I knew it," says Lace, her eyes flashing with anger as she takes in the sight of me curled up in Falco's arms and immediately jumps to what is just about still the wrong conclusion.

"You don't know anything, Lace Mortimer," replies Falco with his usual calm tone that is somehow still full of warning. "Maybe if you had been doing your job properly then you would know Cashmere has been through a lot over the past few weeks."

Lace smirks. "She'll be doing _her _job soon enough and we both know it. She isn't that broken by the arena."

"I am here, Lace," I snap, moving to sit up. This time Falco doesn't stop me as I respond to what I instinctively know is a veiled threat even though I don't understand the meaning behind her words. "And I'll never be as broken or as heartless as you."

She smirks again. "You'll be broken soon enough."

"That's enough!" shouts Falco, very uncharacteristically raising his voice as he pulls me back against him, suddenly holding me so tightly that I almost can't breathe. Then he realises what he's doing and releases me ever so slightly.

I glare at my mentor, guessing that she means the Tour. She's right. Soon the Capitol will require me to mentor and before that I will have to do my bit to promote the glory of the Hunger Games by touring the districts and facing the families of those who will never return home. But her words and attitude are exactly what I need, because they make me all the more determined to find a way to deal with what I've done. It won't be easy, but I will cope with my Victory Tour because I won't allow her to witness me breaking down.

"Congratulations, Cashmere," says Topaz, striding into the room with his usual obliviousness to the atmosphere. "Another District One victor. We'll be rivalling District Two soon."

"Thank you," I reply stiffly.

District Two. I'm nowhere near ready to go there yet, mentally or physically. I realise that because of the pang of grief I feel when a pair of dark eyes flash through my mind before I can force the image away, because of the memory I have of a once proud and strong fighter whose dying breath blew softly on my neck before her cannon fired. No, I'm not ready to deal with that now. I have to keep the mask on for a bit longer.

"I'm surprised they let you come upstairs though," continues Topaz, seemingly determined to maintain the conversation even though nobody else in the room wants to keep talking.

"I couldn't stay down there," I reply evenly. "I have no idea why, but I seem to have developed claustrophobia."

Falco remains silent but I can feel him laugh at my flippancy. Lace just scowls, pulling her dark-blonde hair back from her face and tying it up with a band.

"The medical team want you back," she says, attempting firmness even though she must know I have no intention of obeying her.

"We all want things we can't have, Lace," I retort immediately. She scowls again. "I'm healed now, physically anyway, and if I go back then they'll have to drug me again. That will mean I'm not ready for tomorrow, and I don't think you'd want the blame for that laid at your door, would you?"

"You're a foolish woman, Cashmere de Montfort, and one day soon, you'll realise exactly how foolish."

She turns on her heel and leaves the room as soon as she finishes speaking. Topaz follows her immediately, leaving Falco and I alone once more.

"I'm a bad influence on you, Butterfly," he says, and despite how I think at least some of his cheerfulness is forced this time, for once I choose to ignore it. "You'd make a fine member of government."

"I don't think the president would agree with you. I think I'd make a few choices he wouldn't necessarily agree with."

"You'd do a excellent job," he replies. "We could run the country together, and make everything that's wrong about Panem right again."

I somehow don't think it would be as simple as it sounds when he says it so quickly and casually, but that doesn't mean I don't like the idea. It worries me when he talks like that though, because if it wasn't for his high-ranking job in government then I would think he sounds almost rebellious. I like to hear him say it, but it worries me that I'm not the only one listening. I look up at him and put my finger to my lips. He shakes his head but says nothing further, perhaps knowing that I will feel better and more relaxed if he does as I say.

* * *

"_Cashmere, come this way," calls the tiny girl from District Three. "It will all be better if you follow me."_

_I don't know why, but I do as she says, and she dances along the narrow corridor ahead of me, looking back every now and then to check that I am still there. She checks every door we pass, and when we get to a certain one, she pushes it open and gestures for me to go inside. I do as she says and then look behind me to see where she is. As soon as I realise she isn't there, the creaking noise starts and the far wall slides towards me._

_I race back to the door but I can't get out. It's stuck. I can't breathe. A face appears in the window and I reach for him. Corvinus. He will save me, just like he always did._

_I scream with terror when I see him pulling and kicking at the door that won't open even a fraction. The wall gets closer and closer and I can't get out._

* * *

"Cashmere! Cashmere, wake up! It's only a dream, Cashmere, please!"

My eyes fly open and I jump away from the scraping sound of the window sliding open. A second later, I feel the cool night breeze upon my face and I finally wake fully. I look down at my hands to find them red and scratched from where I had been struggling to open the window of my bedroom in the Training Centre, still lost in my dream.

"You're safe now. The arena is gone and you were never that girl."

I turn to look up at Falco, allowing him to lift me to my feet from where I sit in a crumpled heap below the window ledge.

"What are you still doing here?" I ask shakily, my voice not sounding like my own.

"You're still here," is all he says as he guides me back over to the huge bed, only to find the sheets in a twisted and tangled mess.

He rearranges them himself, saying nothing as I stand there trembling, watching him blankly.

"In you get then," he tells me when he has put the bed back together.

I do as he says, allowing him to tuck me in like a little girl. It feels wrong to let him see me like this, to see me so weak and vulnerable. Not because I don't trust him, because that couldn't be further from the truth, but because I don't want him to see this pathetic creature I have become. He has to see the beautiful Cashmere who went to her interview in a sparkling red dress with her head held high.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly, mortified that the last fragment of the mask I present to the world has shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces.

He brushes my hair back from my face. "You don't need to be." He sounds so sincere that I almost believe him. "I should let you rest now."

He turns to leave but I grasp his wrist like he is all that's stopping me from drowning. He turns his black-eyed gaze onto me once again.

"Falco, don't go. Please don't leave me on my own."

He smiles grimly and prises his wrist from my grasp. "Your own special brand of torture, Butterfly," he says in little more than a whisper as he walks slowly around the bed and pulls himself up onto the other side, lying on top of the covers and leaning back against the vast padded headboard.

"I-"

"Just get some sleep, Cashmere," he tells me softly. "I'd rather be here than not and I think we both know it."

* * *

When I woke up in the morning, Falco had gone, but I didn't have time to think about that because he had been replaced by three people whose presence instantly reminded me of the day I had ahead of me.

By the time Drusilla, Charis and Callista finally leave me, I feel like I've been run over by one of the tribute trains. They mean well and I have grown more attached to them than I ever thought I would, but there are only so many tales of the Capitol's view of the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games that I can deal with, and I have most definitely heard one too many today. I think even Drusilla actually noticed I was reaching breaking point at the time Callista launched into 'Cashmere de Montfort: The New Finnick Odair?', which is the headline of an article she supposedly read in a newspaper this morning, and she immediately ushered her younger colleagues firmly out of the door before I could snap.

That was about half an hour ago and I am still waiting here alone in my room at the Training Centre, clutching my thin white silk robe around me as I stand as close to the window as possible, my craving for daylight and the sight of the sky not showing any sign of diminishing.

"Drusilla tells me you've lost too much weight and that the scar on your stomach refuses to vanish completely, and Falco tells me you're perfect. Which one is lying to me, Miss de Montfort?"

I spin around at the sound of Felix's voice to see him standing in the doorway. He looks tired but happy, and his hair is still sticking up at all angles.

"Falco's lying," I reply. "And Falco shouldn't be looking," I continue with a grin as I leave the window to fly across the room, throwing myself into my stylist's outstretched arms.

"Cashmere, you won," he says, releasing me and holding me away from him, inspecting me with stylist's eyes. "I watched you all the time. I knew you'd come back." Then he nods his head and pushes me towards the sofa, looking almost embarrassed by his outburst and confusing me totally. "Whoever's right, you're still beautiful, so it won't take me long to get you ready," he continues, sitting down and pulling me down beside him.

"But… I don't understand."

"Just rest, Cashmere. If you want to talk then I'll listen, and if you don't then I'm quite happy to bore you senseless with any number of stories about the weird goings on at the Remake Centre."

I stare at him for several minutes and he simply meets my gaze steadily, his soft smile never fading. I had thought that after telling Falco as much as I could bear to last night when I couldn't go back to sleep, that I wouldn't want to or be able to discuss the Games again, not until I get home to Gloss anyway, but I trust Felix and he isn't as close to me as Falco is. For some reason that makes it easier, and I lose track of how long we sit there for as I relive my time in the arena.

I tell him about the bloodbath and the little girl from District Three, trying to explain what I was thinking as I drove my sword into her heart. Felix tells me that I don't have to explain, that he understands why I did it, and while his calm words don't ease my guilt, they make it easier to deal with. I keep talking and talking until I get to the part I've been trying not to think about since the day it happened. That part is the part of the story I don't know, the part that happened straight after Sheen's death.

"Did she hurt him? Did he suffer?" I ask, my voice shaking as I dread the answer.

Felix almost smiles. "No," he replies softly. "It wasn't a pretty fight but they fought fairly and the girl got lucky. She killed him cleanly and quickly. She respected him, I think, like she respected you in the end."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't know the first thing about her, but once a person earned her respect, she didn't seem the type to dishonour them by not granting them a respectable death."

I nod slightly, relief that Corvinus didn't suffer in the end flooding my senses. "He deserved to live," I whisper, which makes Felix raise his finger to his lips to silence me.

"I don't doubt it," he whispers in my ear, "but be careful what you say and where. You're more than a mere tribute now."

"Everyone seems to tell me that."

"I'm surprised you need telling," he replies. "You said yourself that children of District One always know to watch their words."

I nod. "I just miss having someone to talk to. I want to go home."

"And you can. Very soon," he says brightly, pushing himself to his feet and dragging me after him.

"Where's this dress then?" I ask teasingly, deciding to let him drag me away from my melancholy mood for a while. "You lied to me in the Launch Room. You said you'd finished it, but Falco told me you were still working on it yesterday."

He smiles knowingly. "You'll see," he says, holding out his hand to me.

I allow him to lead me into the other room and stand me in front of the full length mirror.

"Hurry up, both of you. You can't keep the country waiting," says Drusilla immediately, looking up from the pair of silver sandals she was polishing and then crossing the room over to me.

"Sometimes it's difficult to remember exactly who is in charge here," says Felix amusedly, rolling his eyes at the leader of my prep team as he disappears into the walk-in wardrobe.

Drusilla pushes my robe off my shoulders, snatching it away before I can protest. I open my mouth to argue, feeling a lot more vulnerable than I did before the arena and therefore strongly at odds with the woman who has just removed my last defence, but she silences me by reaching out and smoothing my hair down, her hand gently brushing the side of my face. I stare at her, shocked by this uncharacteristic softness.

"You made the three of us proud to work with you," she says quietly, before her usual stern expression reasserts itself and she sweeps away after Felix, leaving me staring at my reflection in the mirror.

What she told my stylist is true. I have lost weight in the arena. When I turn to the side slightly, I can see my ribs in a way I couldn't before, and my hipbones seem more prominent than they were. I still look like myself though, and I can't see any scars, even if Drusilla thinks she can, not even the one left by Dahlia's knife. I find it strange that I should be physically so unchanged when I don't think I'll ever be the same again mentally.

I jump when Felix appears in the mirror behind me and he smiles apologetically. I close my eyes as he lowers my dress over my head, waiting for him to adjust it and step back before opening them again.

Then I stand there staring at myself, taking in the diamond encrusted bodice and flowing white and silver skirts that shimmer in the light and sparkle with even more diamonds. It looks familiar, but it isn't until I open my mouth to speak that I realise exactly why. When I do, the words evaporate before they leave my mouth. I lift my hands up but don't quite dare to touch it.

"This is what I think it is, isn't it?" I whisper eventually.

Felix smiles again. "It was an idea Falco and I came up with when you were in the arena and we thought you'd like it. Getting it out of the archive took some doing and Falco had to…help with the finances, but yes, Cashmere, it is."

I turn to face him with tears in my eyes, trying to remember a time when I did something other than cry. I didn't even imagine it would be possible to get an outfit worn by a previous tribute, but here it is. Sapphire's Opening Ceremony dress.

"They wouldn't let you wear it as it was so I added the long skirts, but it's still intact underneath. Just a bit smaller," he adds with a smile.

I laugh. Sapphire always was a tiny bit bigger than me. When we were young she used to show off about it and I used to tell her it was only because she was a year older and that I'd soon catch up. I never did. If anything, the size difference between us increased.

"Thank you."

He nods and brushes an imaginary speck of dust from my shoulder. "Ready to face the mob?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

He turns and leaves the room, explaining that he's going to find out when they want us downstairs, leaving me to gaze at the sparkling diamond dress and remember the girl who wore it first.

"She'd love to see you here," says Falco as he appears in the mirror behind me. "Try to think about that when it gets difficult. Think about going home."

"Not as much as I'd like to see her," I reply, responding to his first statement as I turn to face him. "I don't know if I can do this. They're going to make me live through it all again, and…and I don't think I'm strong enough."

"Of course you are. I believe in you, Cashmere. You can do anything."

"You're a bad liar, Falco Hazelwell," I reply teasingly. "You can't lie to me anyway." I'm surprised by how serious his expression suddenly becomes in response to that.

"Which is why I'll always be faithful," he says. "If I'm not then you'll know."

I stare at him through the mirror before eventually turning around. He brushes a strand of my hair back from my face and what little self control I managed to retain after the arena suddenly snaps. I reach up and put my arms over his shoulders before I have time to think about what I'm doing. For a brief second I freeze as he doesn't react, thinking how stupid I am, that I've done the one thing I promised myself I wouldn't do, that I've given in to the feelings I really shouldn't have. Then he wraps his arms around me and lifts me off my feet, kissing me with an intensity I should have expected but somehow don't.

"I can't leave you alone for two minutes, can I?" calls Felix through his laughter.

I didn't even hear him come into the room, and I soon turn away in embarrassment.

"They're ready for us to go downstairs," he says, still smiling. "You even looked presentable before I left, but now I'm not so sure," he adds, reaching out to straighten my diamond encrusted hair clip.

"She still looks presentable now," interrupts Falco, walking towards his friend so he has no choice but to move in the direction of the door.

I watch them go, wishing that we could just stay upstairs until the whole ceremony is over, trying to ignore the fact that I am the star of the show. That is until Falco returns and grasps my hand.

"The show has to go on, remember?"

I nod grimly, initially allowing him to drag me towards the lifts and then following him willingly. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can go home. That is the only way I can cope with the horror that is to come so I force myself to focus on that. It's the only way I can get through this.

**I'm not sure what I think of this one because I'm so out of practice at writing 'outside the arena' ;) Thanks to everyone who 'spoke' to me last time - you have kept me going when Chapter 18 was proving impossible to write and I still haven't finished it yet so I would appreciate the same again please ;)**


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

I can hear the buzzing of the crowd as soon as the lift doors slide open and Felix guides me into the entrance hall. I take a deep breath and try to calm down, but my heart keeps racing and my head keeps spinning. I wish Falco had followed us into the lift instead of just escorting me to it and then heading off in the other direction. I believed him when he said he would be downstairs with me after he had spoken to one more person, but I feel calmer when he's with me, more like the person I was before the arena, so I didn't want him to go.

I quickly find that there is nobody else in the entrance hall, and as my stylist and I head towards the side door that leads to the corridor which will take us somewhere below the stage in the City Circle, I notice that they have blacked out the windows and doors of the Training Centre so nobody can see inside.

"Where is everyone else?" I ask as we make our way down the steps.

"They should be waiting to go onto the stage," replies Felix, knowing I mean my 'support' team, of which some of whom have been more supportive than others. "They will be announced before you are."

I nod and stare around at the deserted corridor, remembering how only a few short weeks ago, it was crowded with stylists, prep teams and tributes as everyone was getting ready for the pre-Games interviews to begin. Now all of those other tributes are dead. Now there is only me left.

I remember how I had been the last to arrive, how I had slowly and deliberately walked to the front of the tribute line in my sparkling dress, giving the rest of them time to stand and stare. Dahlia had threatened me, Corvinus had teasingly whistled, and the thought of both of them makes my breath catch.

"Don't cry, Cashmere," I say to myself under my breath, repeating my words over and over again like a mantra. "Don't cry."

"Pardon?" asks Felix, his eyes full of concern when he turns back to look at me.

"Nothing," I reply, forcing my emotions back under control. "It doesn't matter."

"The sooner it starts the sooner it finishes. Try to block it out."

I nod, suddenly wanting nothing more than to run away from this situation even though I know there is no chance at all of being able to do that. We turn down yet another dark and windowless corridor and I close my eyes as we walk. The walls aren't made of metal, there is no water trailing down them, but there is no natural light either, and it's humid in here. Logic tells me that's because it's a hot summer's day and the enclosed space is trapping the heat, but I can't listen to logic. All I know is that it's like There.

I don't realise I've stopped walking until I open my eyes to find myself looking straight at Felix, who stands directly in front of me, his hands grasping my upper arms, an almost frightened expression upon his face. It's a confused expression, one of a person who has no idea what's going to happen next or what to do about it. My breathing is short and sharp, and when I look down at myself I can see how much I'm trembling. I know exactly what's coming next but that doesn't mean I can fight it.

"Keep walking, Cashmere," he pleads. "Just get to the end of this corridor and you'll be able to see the City Circle."

His voice sounds like it's coming from a great distance away, and I open my mouth to speak but no words come out. I jerk away from him and spin around when my back hits the wall, crying out in blind panic as I try to escape the demons in my head.

"Cashmere, please!" he shouts, making one last attempt to calm me before rushing off down the corridor and leaving me alone in the darkness as the memories of the arena close in around me.

It's worse when he goes, as it always is when I'm alone. I look frantically from one side to the other, searching for a way out that I already know isn't there. The sound of the crowd outside becomes the screaming of the dying tributes at the bloodbath, the sound of their footsteps as they take their seats in the stands becomes the sound of the muttations' clawed paws hitting the floor as they race towards me. I wait for the cannons to start firing, sinking to the floor and cowering against the wall.

"Cashmere!"

Something about that voice loosens the grip of my waking nightmare, and eventually I am able to look up, half in reality and half locked in my imagination.

"I think we need to get you out of here, don't you?" says Falco, reaching down to lift me to my feet with a reassuring confidence I don't try to resist.

He pulls me back the way we came, more than half carrying me back into the entrance hall of the Training Centre, and then he stands there supporting me until my breathing eventually returns to normal.

"I'm sorry," I say immediately, regretting my actions even though nothing that just happened was intentional. "Poor Felix. I didn't mean to, I just lost control. I don't know where it came from."

He reaches up and wipes my tears away. Then he looks at his watch. We both know that my emotional state won't be an adequate excuse if the nation is kept waiting.

"It's being underground. It gives you flashbacks."

I knew that already, but it somehow makes me feel better to hear him say it. If he can say it then it's really happening. There really is more to it than simply me losing my mind.

"I can't go on stage and pretend everything's fine. I'm scared. I'm scared of seeing it all again."

"Yes, you can. You have to and you will," he replies firmly, talking to me like I imagine he talks to most of those who work for him, in a authoritarian way he knows I will resent and therefore respond to. However, when he continues, his voice is softer and more familiar. "You can do this, Cashmere. Everyone gets scared, even me."

"I don't believe you," I retort, smiling slightly as his words break through the haze of my memories.

"Good," he replies with his familiar smirk. "If you did then my reputation would be ruined."

I laugh and take his hand, letting him lead me back through the door and down the steps. He doesn't let me go as we make our way down the dark and enclosed corridor, distracting me with a funny but inconsequential tale which I'm sure he must have heard from Felix. He tells me of how one of the younger stylists purchased a cat, which are apparently the latest craze in the Capitol at the moment, and returned to her apartment a day later to find virtually every piece of furniture she owned almost ripped to shreds by the creature, which had vanished without a trace.

I remember seeing the woman at the Remake Centre, for she is the only person I have ever seen with whiskers, so I know exactly who he's talking about. By the time he has finished the story by telling me how she put posters all around the city, asking people to return the animal to her if they find it, not forgetting to include details of exactly how much she paid for it in the first place, of course, we have reached the steps that lead up to the stage and I can already hear Caesar Flickerman telling jokes to the crowd as he introduces the Games review programme.

"Drusilla, Charis and Callista will go on first, then Falco, then me and then Lace and Topaz," says Felix when he sees us, deliberately avoiding the subject of what just happened, much to my relief.

"When?" I ask, looking across at my prep team, who are all standing there almost glowing with excitement, even Drusilla.

Felix starts to answer me but doesn't get the chance to finish his sentence, because at that moment, a Capitol official steps forwards and ushers my prep team onto the podium that will rise up and transport them to the stage. They rush forwards eagerly, and I can tell exactly when the audience see them because the noise of their cheers trebles in volume. I smile at the thought of how happy the three women who have been responsible for polishing my appearance to as close as I can get to perfection will be at the attention they are getting.

The podium reappears, and after brushing a strand of my hair back from my face, Falco swiftly disappears. He is announced by Caesar and the cheers from the crowd are almost deafening, confirming to me once again that he is not only well-known but also incredibly popular here. I turn to Felix to see him struggling to suppress his laughter.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I just find it amusing that one who loathes such attention should be given it so readily."

I smile, thinking that even though Falco dislikes situations like this, he is intelligent enough to see the advantages of such popularity and has long since learnt to tolerate it.

Felix disappears then, leaving me standing alone with Lace and Topaz, who step forwards to stand closer to where the podium will return to. They look like they've seen prep teams too, and Lace's dark-blonde hair frames her face rather than being pulled tightly back like it normally is. Every other second she pushes it back behind her ears, and I can tell from the look on her face that she isn't enjoying this at all. She glares at me before looking away.

"Make the most of this while it lasts," she says, her voice as harsh and unforgiving as ever.

"You don't know me, Lace," I reply. "If you did then you would know that all I want is to go home."

"Then make the most of being there, because they won't let you stay there for long."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I call after her as she is guided onto the podium. She ignores me and I am left standing completely alone.

I can hear Caesar. I can hear the crowd. I can hear the beat of the music they have playing in the background. I have to do this. I have to endure it because if I do then they will let me go back home to Gloss.

'Don't cry, Cashmere. Don't cry. Not long now. Don't cry.' I repeat my chant over and over again in my mind, even when the official guides me onto the podium, the effort of concentrating on that preventing me from focussing on how this metal plate reminds me so sharply of another one that I stood on only weeks before.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am very proud to introduce the winner of the Sixty-sixth Annual Hunger Games, Miss Cashmere de Montfort!"

The podium clicks into place, shaking as the whole stage vibrates because of the sheer volume of noise coming from the audience. I stare at them, hypnotised by the sight of so many people. They fill the entire City Circle and from what I can see from here, all of the side streets around it. I look up and see even more people leaning over the balconies of the houses, all straining to catch a glimpse of the newest victor. Me. It takes a few seconds for me to remember that.

"Many congratulations, Cashmere," calls Caesar, breaking my trance. "Come and have a seat so we can relive your marvellous victory."

'I don't want to relive it,' says the voice in my mind. 'I just want to forget it ever happened.'

But I have to ignore the voice, so I smile and wave to the crowd robotically, forcing my feet to take me to the centre of the stage so Panem's most famous television host can show me to my throne-like chair and the ceremony can properly begin.

The crowd keeps cheering and when Caesar gestures to me and bows ceremoniously, they get even louder.

"Doesn't she look beautiful, Ladies and Gentlemen?"

They answer with a resounding chorus of 'Yes', and I have to find Falco and Felix in the mass of people, as looking at them is the only way I can think of to help me maintain the fixed smile upon my face as Caesar finally calls for silence. I can't help feeling that 'Look, she's still alive!' would be more appropriate than commenting on my beauty.

Caesar announces the three hour long review of the Games, which is mandatory viewing for every person in Panem outside the Capitol, and the lights dim as the anthem begins to play. How I have come to hate that sound.

I stare straight ahead as the seal of the Capitol appears on the massive screen in front of me. It's just like when Sheen died. I didn't want to watch, but at the same time I simply couldn't look away.

They show the reapings first, starting with my own, and I see myself in my blue dress, racing ahead of the crowd with Sheen just behind me. They don't include the part where Gloss shouts my name as I leave the stage, but I see his face in the crowd for a split second. It's just enough for me to see the hurt and pain he felt, making me long to see him more than ever. Even on the day of my reaping I was sorry that I had to leave him, and now I am going back to him after everything that has happened, there is a part of me that feels more sorrow than ever that I made the decisions I did.

Then the programme carries on and I see all the tributes who featured in the arena; Corvinus, Dahlia, Marcia, Octavian and Davena. I can't watch District Two without scanning the crowd gathered in front of their stage and wondering if one of the young women is Astraea. I can't begin to imagine what she's going through as she watches this. I wonder if she _is _actually watching, or if she has found a way to avoid it, if she is in one of the Community Halls, sitting at the very back of the group of people gathered there so she doesn't have to see the screen.

I see myself in my Opening Ceremony dress, then in my sparkling red interview dress. I look so confident, so certain, but I don't remember feeling that way at the time. Perhaps I did. Perhaps the arena has changed me to the point that I can't remember what I felt before. I close my eyes as Davena appears on the screen and talks about the family who will never see her again, and when I reopen them, it is to see myself standing on my podium in the bleak warehouse arena that will haunt my dreams forever.

The music changes and the gong sounds. The crowd in the City Circle gasp and I cringe as the bloodbath begins. Naturally, the film focuses on me a lot, and the expression on my face as I instinctively and reflexively lash out at the boy from District Twelve terrifies me. I had thought at the time that Sheen looked emotionless, but I abruptly realise that I do too. Perhaps my district partner had been as stunned as I was. I can't quite believe it because of the way he acted for the rest of the Games, but I suppose now I will never know.

The little girl from District Three was called Elsah. I know that now because they showed her and her district partner briefly when they reviewed the Opening Ceremony, their names flashing up on the screen beneath their terrified and bewildered expressions. It feels strange to finally be able to put a name to the face that has haunted my dreams since the day of the bloodbath, and my heart races as her death is shown in full.

For some reason, even though it's Elsah who is dying, the focus is on me for the whole time. It shows how I put her out of her misery before Dahlia could get her, and suddenly it becomes clear to me exactly where the film directors are going to go with this. First Elsah, then Marcia and Octavian, and finally Davena. I killed them all to save them from a slower and more painful death, and that is how they are going to portray me. Cashmere, the girl who made killing an act of mercy. I have never felt more ashamed.

I look down at my lap so I don't have to watch the screen, but I soon raise my head in response to the laughter of the crowd. When I do, I see myself falling against the side of the Cornucopia as Corvinus interrogates me about Sheen. They laugh again when we settle back down against each other, and for a second, I hate them for it. I feel a tear roll down my face and I'm too frightened to draw attention to it by wiping it away.

The video goes on and on for what feels like forever after that. I see the muttations take out the girl from District Eleven, I see Sheen draw a knife and try to stab me as we flee that horrific scene into the darkness. He would have succeeded if Corvinus hadn't pushed him away, showing me that I am even more in my ally's debt than I thought.

It shows the Alliance and everything we did after that, but then Davena appears on the screen as it takes the focus away from me in a way that has barely happened since the recap of the bloodbath. She's hiding out upstairs, stretching out what little food she has and clearly hoping that most of the other tributes will kill each other before she is forced to make an appearance and become a real player in the game.

Her plan nearly succeeded, and the part of me that is able to forget she had to die for me to live wishes that it had. She didn't deserve to die in the arena and my hand shakes as I remember how easily my blade sank into her. I turn my head to the side for the first time since the film started, scanning the front row of the stand until I find Falco. His eyes lock with mine and I stare at him until he nods almost imperceptibly at the screen. I know he's right, that something will be said if I keep looking at him, that they will notice if I'm not watching the Games review properly when my reactions are being televised across the whole country, but it is with great reluctance that I turn away.

The death of the girl from District Nine is very nearly as horrific on screen as it was in reality, and I have to close my eyes when I see myself clawing at a door that will never open. It's obvious that it shocks everyone, both those here watching in the City Circle and myself and my fellow tributes in the arena, but despite the situation, I have to stop myself from smiling when Octavian turns to Dahlia for comfort when it's their turn to keep watch. She obviously doesn't know what to say to him, but the fact she tries to think of something tells me she was capable of feeling a lot more than hate and anger, however she appeared. Her stilted, overly-formal words clearly meant the world to him, and the shock and uncertainty on her face when he puts his sleeping bag on the floor next to hers is priceless.

"I'm still awake, Dahlia," he says as he lies down with his back to her. She stares at the back of his head, and I can almost see her thinking how easy it would be to kill him, but then something makes her decide not to, and for a split second her expression softens as she sits up and leans back against the Cornucopia.

I can feel my tears welling up at the thought that the boy from Four is dead, that I killed him. I know I wouldn't be here now if I hadn't, but it seems like such a waste of life that I almost can't bear it. I look back into the dimly lit stands to see Falco already staring at me rather than the screen, almost as if he can sense my already tenuous grip on my self-control getting weaker. He smiles encouragingly, nodding at the stage steps to tell me it won't be long now.

This feels like the longest three hours of my life, and yet as I watch the events of the arena replay on the screen and it reaches the part where the basement level floods, I suddenly wish that time would stop. I know what's coming next and I don't want to see it.

The crowd gasps as Dahlia first kills the boy from District Six and then turns on Sheen, and I'm convinced I could hear a pin drop just before Corvinus's voice fills the City Circle as he demands that my district partner gets back to his feet and fights. I watch with morbid fascination as my ally wears Sheen down until he can barely defend himself before pushing him in the direction of Dahlia, who swiftly finishes him off, already looking for her real opponent. The picture switches for a second to show me creeping away down the corridor and I know everything I see from now on will be what I couldn't bear to witness in the arena.

"_Now or later?" Corvinus asks Dahlia casually, his hand already reaching for the hilt of his sword as if he knows what her answer will be._

"_No point waiting," she retorts, her voice equally as emotionless as she draws her own sword and they begin to circle each other._

I've never seen anything like the fight I am seeing now. Nothing I have seen in training back home could have prepared me for this. I have never seen two people as skilled as Corvinus and Dahlia truly battling for their lives, and they are almost a blur on the screen as they move from one direction to the next, their swords flashing so quickly that the only thing telling me they are there at all is the sound of metal hitting metal. Neither is willing to give the other a millimetre of space, and once Dahlia reaches for her long knives before flinging her sword away, they are so evenly matched despite the obvious differences in size, strength and fighting style that it would be impossible to tell who was going to win if I didn't already know the outcome.

What we're seeing on screen is obviously the condensed version, and there is a commentator both describing the battle in a very over-the-top way and making sure that the audience know exactly how long the pair from District Two have been fighting for. The only time the focus is away from them is when I am shown, curled up on the floor upstairs, waiting for a cannon to fire.

I have to raise my hand up to cover my mouth so I don't cry out when finally Dahlia manages to make Corvinus think she is going one way only to spin around and go the other. Her knife sinks into his chest and I see the surprise in his dark eyes as the camera zooms in on his face. He falls to his knees in front of her and I have to look at the floor so I can't see what happens next. I don't care if the officials notice I'm not watching, all I know is that I can't bear to see him die. His last words only make everything worse.

"_I didn't think this would happen, Vilani," he gasps. "I didn't think you'd ever get the better of me."_

"_I did," she replies flatly. "Nobody in the Training Centre is a better fighter than me, not even you."_

"_There's more to life than fighting, Dahlia. If you win then try to remember that."_

"_I will win," she retorts immediately._

"_Then tell Astraea-"_

"_I don't need to tell her, Rossetti. She already knows you only breathe for her. The whole Training Centre knows it."_

The cannon fires then, and it rings out around the silence that fills the City Circle, the echo it makes taking a long time to fade away. This time I don't bother to hide my tears, wiping them from my face and only later remembering to hope that the make-up Drusilla used is waterproof.

By the time I can see past the image my mind has created of Corvinus, fatally wounded and kneeling before his district partner, the review of the Games has moved on to my own confrontation with his killer. The first thought that crosses my mind is relief that I don't have to watch Davena die. At least my grief for my closest ally means I have been spared that horror.

Watching myself fight Dahlia is like watching one of the Capitol soap operas. When I see the girl on the television, I find that I barely associate her with myself, and only when she reaches up to sink her dagger into the chest of her opponent do I release the breath I didn't realise I was holding. The seal appears once more and the anthem plays. I stare numbly and unseeingly into the distance, only returning to reality when Caesar announces me to the crowd.

They cheer and I want to shout at them, to tell them to shut up, that this about more than just their entertainment, but I say nothing. I stand and wave to them like a puppet, smiling prettily for the cameras and hoping that the tears I had shed won't show. What else can I do?

* * *

I had hoped I would be allowed to retreat upstairs once the main ceremony was over and most of the cameras had stopped rolling, but it very quickly became apparent there would be no chance of that. I felt and still do feel so tired that I can hardly keep my eyes open. I know it's because of the arena, because I haven't fully recovered physically from what I endured there, never mind mentally, but it seems that I'm one of the few who can see it. Nobody else seems to understand. It's like they all think I'm a machine that has been developed in a lab somewhere or an object that has been made to order in a workshop like the one Father runs back home, that I have been put here to perform for them because I am the latest star of the Hunger Games and they all want to see me. I can't help thinking that they aren't far wrong, and that is what's making me lose my love of the limelight more with each second that passes.

I have spent hours and hours in the Banquet Hall in President Snow's mansion, smiling for and speaking to countless people, most of whom claim to have contributed to my victory with sponsorship money, and I sigh deeply with exhausted relief when I finally flop down onto the sofa in the Level One dining room. Felix sits beside me, and for a while we sit in silence, but it doesn't take him long to break it.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "You're quiet."

"I'm just tired," I reply, temporarily attempting to delude myself into imagining he will believe that. I don't get much of a chance.

He raises his eyebrows. "It isn't just that. Is it the Victory Ceremony? You can't change the past, Cashmere. There's no point in letting the Sixty-sixth Games claim their twenty-fourth victim."

"It isn't that easy, Felix. I see their faces every time I close my eyes. I hear their voices in my nightmares. They will never leave me and I'm not even sure I'd deserve the peace if they did."

"They won't leave you," he replies flatly. "You will remember this past month and everything that's happened for the rest of your life, but you still have to live. You still have people who care for you who want and need you to live. Even Drusilla would miss you if she didn't get to come on your Victory Tour," he adds teasingly. "I don't think I've ever seen her get this close to publicly liking someone before. It's quite a shock to see."

I laugh. "I'd miss her too. And anyway, when did you become so wise?"

"You mean 'How did I become so wise when I'm a mere Capitol stylist?'?" he retorts, his features as close to angry-looking as he can get even though his eyes are still smiling.

"I didn't say that!" I protest through my continued laughter.

He laughs with me. "It's good to see that smile again. The real one not the one the cameras get. Now maybe you can tell me what else is bothering you."

"What do you mean?"

"Apart from when District Two fought, you hid your emotions almost perfectly when you were watching the film on that stage apart from when the audience would have expected them to show, so something else between now and then has changed. What is it?"

I hesitate. He's as good at seeing through me as Falco is, perhaps even better. It's a struggle to find the right words, and for the millionth time since I left home, I find myself wishing Gloss was here.

"I didn't like the banquet," I tell him eventually, deciding it's probably better to tell him rather than Falco, who is altogether more protective of me and definitely more than capable of having most of the people at the feast assassinated if he felt the need. "I'm used to people staring at me. I'm used to people wanting this," I say, gesturing down at myself, "without really caring about this." I tap the side of my head lightly. "But this was different. When some of the people in that hall stared at me, it was like they really meant it."

I shiver involuntarily and he smiles, shrugging his shoulders.

"I imagine things are different here to how they are in District One," he says. "It's a totally different culture here. They wouldn't even imagine a world where you might be offended if they look at you that way."

I shrug my shoulders back, not entirely convinced but not seeing a lie in his eyes either.

"And I know I shouldn't say it, but President Snow is easily the most terrifying person I've ever met."

"Am I interrupting something?" asks Falco jokingly as he strides into the room and collapses into the chair on my other side.

I shake my head and then shift across to lean against him, staring up with what I hope is a highly over-exaggerated innocent expression. How successful it is, I'm not sure, but it does make him laugh.

"So you're not planning to run away together to District Thirteen in the middle of the night then?"

"Don't be absurd, Falco, there is no District Thirteen," I reply with a sly smile.

"So that's the only thing stopping you?" he asks teasingly.

"Of course," interrupts Felix, jokingly pulling me towards him. "We are meant to be together. Surely you can see that?"

"Has anyone ever explained to you how easily I go off people, Felix?" retorts Falco, lifting his arm up and draping it casually over the back of the sofa, his body language showing that he's only teasing and that he knows my relationship with his friend is and always will be entirely platonic.

We all laugh and I curl up against Falco again, truly relaxing for the first time today. That is when I suddenly realise that the three of us were sitting in exactly the same place a couple of days before the Games started. It feels strange, to remember that time, to remember how worried I was about my interview and that I would say the wrong thing. Now here I am with another interview tomorrow, and I can honestly say that I am just hoping it will be over quickly so I can go home.

"What did the president say to you?" asks Falco, slightly serious once more.

"Not a lot," I reply. "He was just congratulating me on winning the Games again. Then he wished me a safe journey for tomorrow and said that he is looking forward to when I return here after the Victory Tour." Then I shrug my shoulders and lower my voice to a whisper. "I hated talking to him. There's something about the way he looks at me. He scares me."

"After everything you've been through?" he says. "I don't believe that." His tone of voice tells me different though. It tells me that he does and that he understands exactly what I'm saying. "You won't have to come back here for six months now anyway, so you won't see him again for at least that long."

"Good," I reply, just managing to stifle a yawn.

Falco smiles but says nothing further on the subject. "Last day tomorrow. Then you'll be on your way home."

"Are you coming with me?" I ask when it abruptly occurs to me for the first time that I live in District One and he lives in the Capitol.

He nods. "But I will have to return here on the same day. I have a lot of meetings and matters I haven't attended to because of the Games."

Because he's been too busy keeping me alive to do his proper job. I quickly realise that's what that really means, and as much as I want to go home, I find that I don't want to be away from him either.

"Will I be able to return here?" I ask, thinking that there is sure to be some Capitol person who wants me to endorse their make-up or beauty products. I've had letters offering me modelling work already.

"I think it's best if I visit you," he replies immediately, that same almost haunted look that sometimes passes briefly over his features making an appearance once more. As usual, it vanishes so quickly that I'm almost sure I imagined it. "The president wants me to get more involved with the running of the districts so I'm sure I can think of a good number of reasons to be in District One. I want to meet this brother of yours who I've heard so much about," he finishes with a smile.

"I would like that," I say, returning his smile before the subject of my brother suddenly makes me remember about tomorrow's interview. "What will Caesar ask me? I don't want to talk about home but I don't think I could cope with discussing the Games."

"He will probably ask you about both, but he won't push you hard. Caesar's interviewed enough recent victors to know not to go too far."

"Focus on the end and you'll get through it," adds Felix. "Now go and try to sleep. I've not worked as hard as I have on your second interview dress for you to fall asleep while you're wearing it."

I laugh and reluctantly rise to my feet, realising how tired I am but at the same time knowing that the chances of me actually sleeping are minimal. As soon as I close my eyes, the memories and the nightmares return, haunting me until I decide that forcing myself to fight my fatigue and stay awake is infinitely preferable. I turn back and look at Falco, who smiles softly in return, knowing what I'm asking without me having to speak.

"Go. I'll be right here if you need me."

I think I last about half an hour before I wake up screaming, and it takes about half a second after that for Falco to appear by my side. He doesn't speak a word, but he climbs up onto the bed beside me, leaning back against the headboard like he did before, stroking my hair back from my face until I eventually drift off again.

* * *

I know as soon as I wake up that Falco has gone, but I smile when I open my eyes despite that. This is it. It's finally here. My last day in the Capitol. By this evening, I will be back on the tribute train, only this time I'll be on my way home instead of being on my way to the arena.

"Cashmere! Cashmere, are you awake?" calls Callista as she bounds into the room, once again not bothering to knock. I don't know why I still feel surprised by that.

"No, Callista," I reply as I sit up in bed. "You may think I'm sitting up and talking to you, but I'm actually still asleep."

She laughs. "Stop teasing me and get up. We have to get you ready for your interview."

"I always managed to dress myself before I came here, you know," I tell her with a smile.

"Wouldn't you miss our help if we weren't here?" she asks ingenuously, looking slightly hurt, which isn't something I intended.

"Of course I would," I reply with as much brightness as I can muster as I climb down off the huge bed and hurry over to her. "We're friends, aren't we?"

She smiles and takes my hand, eagerly dragging me down the corridor to where Drusilla and Charis wait.

"More diamonds or more rubies?" I ask, deciding to focus on the practicalities of the day so I don't have to think too much about what I'm going to have to talk about in my interview. Make-up and fashion is something I can deal with.

"Neither," replies Felix as he strides into the room with a mass of sky-blue silk thrown over his shoulder which he swiftly whisks into the other room. "You can see it when you've had your make-up done," he continues as he returns, "but first, I think we should all have some breakfast."

"I'm sure that's all you think about," I say teasingly, grateful to him for not throwing me into interview preparation straight away.

The prep team rush over to the food-laden table with their usual almost unnatural enthusiasm, and Felix and I follow at a slower pace.

"Did you sleep in the end?"

"You mean you haven't already asked Falco?" I reply, keeping my voice so low I'm sure he barely hears me.

He laughs and pushes me in the direction of the table. "Go and eat, you ungrateful creature," he says, still laughing. "Then you can get this done. You'll be home before you know it."

I smile and let him pile food onto my plate even though I know that I couldn't possibly eat it all. He's right, I only have this last challenge left, and if I can survive everything that's happened already then I'm sure one little interview won't be that difficult. I think of Gloss, of Falco coming to visit me in District One, and I suddenly feel better. My life won't ever be perfect, I will always be haunted by the arena, but maybe it will be something like the freedom I have dreamt of for so long. If I keep telling myself that then the interview will be easy.

**The last but one chapter... Sorry if you reviewed last time and I haven't replied - I've had one of those weeks where everything happens at once so I've hardly had any time ;)**

**The Victory Tour, the Capitol, Gloss's Games...should I do a sequel? I've done a bit of the tour already but I'd love to know what you think :) **


	19. Chapter 19

**I can't believe I'm saying this but this is the last chapter! I've never written a victor before so it's nice to be able to take the story back to where it started and to not have to write yet another death scene...**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, especially to those of you who have been with me from the beginning :) Even if you haven't, this is the end of the story so I'd love you to tell me you've been reading - reviews keep people writing and I know I'm not the only one who thinks that ;) **

Chapter Nineteen

Several hours later, Felix finally declared me ready to go. That is only after having a slow and almost relaxed breakfast listening to the latest gossip from the Remake Centre and the rest of the Capitol, and then having my make-up applied with almost surgical precision by Drusilla. I wasn't allowed to move from my chair until the real boss of my style team was satisfied that I was quite ready to face the Games-watching public. Instead of being annoyed by that, I found myself appreciating the time and effort she put into ensuring that the mask I present to the world was well and truly in place.

That's how I came to be standing in front of a full-length mirror in the dining room, gazing at the reflection of a girl dressed in a blue silk dress that is embroidered with shining silver thread, a girl who couldn't be more different to the creature I remember from the Games recap.

"It's time to go," calls Felix, opening the door just enough to peer into the room.

"Go where?" I ask, knowing from my memories of watching previous interviews that they are never held with a live audience like the other ceremonies.

"Only to the sitting room," he replies. "Everyone's there already. They're waiting for you."

"Where's Falco?"

He smiles at my question. "He was there too, but I don't know if he still is. Even I'm interesting when there are so many reporters gathered in such a small space, so I'm sure a true celebrity like Falco will probably be appearing on someone's television show as we speak."

"Don't put yourself down," I reply, returning his smile. "I've read as many of the papers as everyone else so I know the truth. One good thing to come out of this is that dressing me has made you famous."

"I wouldn't exactly call it fame," he says, but I can see the pride and ambition in his eyes however hard he tries to hide it. "And that's enough about me. They'll be waiting to start and they can't start without you."

I take a deep breath and a final look in the mirror before making my way out of the room and across the corridor. When I open the sitting room door, I'm immediately hit by a solid wall of noise, and a second later I am surrounded by people.

"Give the girl some space," calls a very familiar voice eventually, and I peer through a gap in the crowd to see Caesar Flickerman pushing his way towards me before immediately doing the opposite of what he ordered everyone else to do. His hair and lips are still lime-green, and I honestly don't know whether to be afraid or amused when he pulls me into a hug.

"My style and make-up team," he says by way of explanation. "They tend to get a bit over-excited." And the award for the understatement of the year goes to…

I smile to myself as the brightly dressed people continue to swarm around me, trying to appear confident as I can see some of the camera crew are already filming. They all want to congratulate me and many get me to sign newspapers or photographs, and though I always thought I would enjoy this, I quickly find the reality to be very different. Now I just wish they would leave me alone and let me go home.

"This way, please, Miss de Montfort," says an official-looking man carrying a clipboard, which is seemingly mandatory for someone who does his job. "We have to start now."

I do as I'm told and allow him to guide me to one of the armchairs, which is carefully placed next to Caesar's familiar golden throne. It doesn't take long before Panem's most famous presenter joins me.

"Three, two, one…"

Caesar immediately launches into his usual introductions, telling jokes and funny stories in his inimitable style. I wish he would talk forever, that the interview would be over by the time he stops, but I know I would never be that lucky, that every moment of this programme is planned a lot more carefully than it appears. Before I know it, he's introducing me and all of the cameras are suddenly focussing on my face rather than his. He congratulates me on winning the Games and it takes me a minute to realise that it's my turn to speak now.

"Thank you," I reply with the biggest and most convincing smile I can manage, "and thank you to everyone who supported me. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."

"I'm sure I speak for the whole city when I say that we couldn't be happier to celebrate your victory."

I continue to smile, mostly because I haven't got a clue what else to do. I certainly don't know what to say, and I don't know how I find words to answer Caesar's questions as he proceeds to ask me about the Games and what I was feeling throughout my time in the arena. Somehow I get through it, trying to focus on the build-up rather than the actual arena because I find it a lot easier to thank Felix for his wonderful dresses and Falco for his help and support than I do to talk about anything else. That is until Caesar asks me the question I have been dreading.

"Tell us, Cashmere, how did you feel as you ran up that staircase when your alliance fell apart? What were you thinking when Corvinus gave you the chance to run?"

"I didn't know what to feel," I start, my voice shaking. I didn't think I'd ever say it, but in the absence of Falco and Felix, who are presumably enduring interviews of their own, it is actually Charis who is keeping me going. I stare straight at her as she stands behind the main camera, smiling encouragingly at me as she has been ever since I sat down. "It's difficult to think straight in there," I continue, and I have to force myself not to comment when Caesar nods in what appears to be understanding of something he could never possibly comprehend. "I just ran. Corvinus saved my life, if not there then he did before. He was a good man, and I have no idea why but he was a good ally and friend as well."

Caesar smiles but doesn't raise the subject of the man from District Two again, probably because he suspects I will inadvertently say more than I should if he does. Even though I don't like what my interviewer does or what he stands for anymore, I can't deny that he does what he can to help the tributes out, and I am relieved when my ally is left out of his next question.

"When did you first realise you had a real chance of winning?"

"The odds were always more in my favour than they were for most of the others," I reply, trying to smile even though I don't know how to answer that. I can't very well announce to the whole of Panem that I trained illegally for the Games even if everyone knows the real truth anyway.

"Very true," says Caesar in response, "but as you've already said, you had some very strong competition. It was very difficult for us viewers to know which way to turn this year." The crowd murmur in agreement and it takes all of my willpower to keep my smile fixed upon my face. How very traumatic that must have been for them, I think bitterly, how the Capitol have suffered. "I think for me it was when you fought the creatures in the cage. None of us could doubt you have brains as well as beauty after that. After all, it was you who saw the trap coming before any of the others."

I stare at him, knowing the end of his sentence is my cue to speak but somehow remaining unable to find words. Any planning that took place when we actually fought the muttations was Corvinus's not mine, and I can't bring myself to take credit for what he did.

"I always knew I had a chance," I reply, speaking just before the silence becomes awkward and Caesar is required to prompt me again, "but I didn't dare believe it until I heard the trumpets play. I kept going from one day to the next because the one thing I knew for certain is that I wanted to get home."

"To see your brother," prompts my interviewer, no doubt remembering our previous meeting and how I had told him that Gloss is the person I love most in the world.

"Yes," I tell him, looking into the nearest camera and hoping my brother is watching. "I've missed him."

"And how proud he must be, the brother of our newest victor."

"I'll be with him very soon, so he won't have to deal with the circus on his own for much longer," I answer cryptically, referring, of course, to our family and so-called friends in District One. Not that Caesar or anyone watching this apart from Gloss and perhaps Falco will understand that. It doesn't matter though, as my words are for my brother and nobody else.

"I'm sure he's missed you," replies Caesar, and to his credit, he doesn't miss a beat despite how he can't possibly understand the meaning behind what I just said. "Although I have to say that we will miss you when you go," he continues, gesturing to the crowd, who call out their agreement immediately.

"Thank you," I reply, looking out across at them all. "I'm sure I will return soon."

"I'm sure you will too. I understand your ambitious young stylist wishes to exhibit his designs at the Grand Hall," Caesar continues, proving once and for all that he either reads the gossip columns in the papers or is actually the one who writes them, which seems infinitely more likely to me. "Perhaps you could come back to model some of his fabulous work for us."

"Perhaps," I reply cautiously, hoping that my sudden unease doesn't show in my voice. Falco had told me he would visit me rather than the other way around and it sounded like he has a reason for wanting it that way. I abruptly realise that I don't want to rashly agree to anything I won't want to keep to later.

From the way Caesar smiles, I can tell he's picked up on my emotions however much I tried to hide them. I guess that comes from years and years of interviewing tributes, and that responding to the feelings of others must have become second nature to him.

"Talking of your stylist, the whole city is talking about how the dress you wore to your Victory Ceremony yesterday evening was a remodelled version of a garment worn by another tribute girl. What can you tell us about that?"

I knew this was coming. I'd prepared myself for it and after everything that has happened, I don't see why I shouldn't talk about Sapphire. The Games are over for us now, so why shouldn't they know about her?

"The dress was worn during the Opening Ceremony for the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games by my foster-sister, Sapphire Beaufort." The crowd gasp, and I can hear the reporters jostling with each other as they attempt to get that little bit closer to the stage so they don't miss a single word. "She was my sister in every way but by blood and I loved her. I still do, even though she isn't with me anymore. It meant a lot to me to wear something that was hers when I celebrated my victory. Something else that was hers," I add, raising my hand to touch the sapphire pendant that was my district token.

My last words stick in my throat as I don't honestly feel that what I did in the arena is something which should be celebrated, but it's what the audience want to hear. They would never understand the whole truth so I do what I've done all along and give them half the truth. That is all their minds can cope with.

"Is she the reason you volunteered, Cashmere? Did you want to succeed for both of you after she came so close to victory?"

"I wanted to succeed for all three of us," I reply, shocked by how steady my voice is.

I take a deep breath as I prepare for the onslaught of questions that are sure to follow my revelation about Sapphire, and Caesar doesn't disappoint me. In a way I feel relieved to be talking of her rather than of the arena, so I answer him willingly about virtually everything he asks me about, and before I know it he is announcing me to the nation one last time as the interview is finally over.

I sigh with relief as the cameras stop rolling. The moment has arrived. It's all over. I can go home. Caesar congratulates me one last time and then promptly vanishes, surrounded by his usual flock of attendants, leaving me stranded on my chair and wondering what will happen next as countless people swarm around in every direction.

"It's time to take you home, Butterfly," says Falco as he abruptly appears by my side, holding his hand out to me.

I smile and allow him to pull me to my feet, relief that it's finally all over drowning out all other emotions as he leads me from the room towards the lifts. We descend directly into yet another mob of reporters, and the only regret I have at how Falco almost carries me over to the car which waits to take us to the station is that I don't get to say a proper goodbye to Felix. He hugs me briefly, promising that he will speak to me very soon, and then he is gone, swallowed up into the crowd as quickly as he appeared.

* * *

It's nearly midday when the train grinds to a halt after pulling into the District One station. That will please the Capitol people who still seem to be everywhere I turn, clutching their clipboards and desperately trying to ensure we stay on the all-important schedule.

The carriage door slides open and I look up, thinking it will be Falco, but I'm disappointed when only Topaz appears.

"We're here, Cashmere," he says. "The photographers will want to get a look at you first. Then you'll be free to find your family."

I stare up at him, torn between my need to see Gloss and my fear that he saw me in the arena and no longer recognises the sister he loved. Then I realise that I don't care. All I want is to see him again.

Topaz steps fully into the carriage and as I rise to my feet, I see why. Lace is standing in the doorway now, looking me up and down as critically as ever. She crosses the small cabin and roughly straightens the collar of my dress, pulling it down a bit further. I immediately pull it back up and she smiles tightly.

"The Capitol's going to love you," she says.

"They already love me. I wouldn't be standing here if they didn't," I reply, not quite understanding how she still can't see that.

She smirks as if she knows something I don't and then steps to the side so I can get to the exit door. I am about to ask where Falco is but don't get chance to, because the next second, Topaz throws open the doors and I'm instantly blinded by a mixture of sunlight and camera flashes.

"Cashmere! Look over here! This way, Cashmere!"

They scream my name from all directions, making it as impossible to know which way to look as it usually is. Once my eyes have adjusted to the brightness, I scan the crowd but see nobody who is more than vaguely familiar. Where is Gloss? Why isn't he here? The crowd of reporters, photographers and regular citizens of District One push forwards, and when I look down, all I see is a mass of people.

"I had to take a phone call," says Falco as he strides into the carriage behind me. "Stand back now, please," he continues, speaking in what I call his work-voice, his calm authoritativeness making them all do as he says so he has room to jump down from the train onto the platform. "Your family are at the other end of the station. There are Peacekeepers keeping the mob away," he continues with a smirk as he puts a hand on either side of my waist and lifts me down beside him.

I let him clear the way for me, my eyes searching for Gloss the whole time. Eventually the crowd starts to thin, the calls of my name decrease in frequency, and the white uniforms of the Peacekeepers appear. For some reason I think of the man who tried it on with me just after the reaping, but there is no sign of him. I saw him only briefly, but I know I would remember the face of a person who presumed to think he could touch me.

Then all thoughts of that man, who could almost have been from a memory of a previous life, disappear as I see the small group of people standing at the end of the platform, clearly loving the attention they are getting. I approach them because I have no choice, and stop a couple of paces from my father.

He looks exactly as I remember him, right down to the arrogant sneer on his face, completely unchanged. Mother and Satin stand a step behind him, both wearing new Capitol-made dresses almost as fine as mine. Satin's is still my size not hers. Some things never change.

"You won then," says Father. "I didn't think you were going to when you were fighting that girl from District Two. But it was clever of you, allying with her district partner," he continues, his tone of voice telling me exactly what he thinks I did to earn Corvinus's loyalty. "Maybe the Games have taught you about the need to be practical in this life."

"Where's my brother?" I ask, unsure exactly why I am shocked by how little has altered here.

"Back at the house. We didn't all need to come here so I ordered him to stay."

My heart sinks as I step forwards to accept my mother's hug. She is questioning me about the Capitol before she has even let me go. I pull away from her as gently as I can bring myself to and look up at Satin. She nods but says nothing, her face emotionless as she moves to stand beside Father.

I ignore them all, moving away in search of the solitude I crave like I never did before as I try to tell myself that this is nothing. In a very short time, they will present me with the keys to a house in the Victor's Village. Then I can go and find Gloss myself and set him free from our father's chains.

I look around for Falco but he has disappeared, no doubt because some reporter wants to interview him as usual. They love to interrogate him, probably because they get to talk about two of the subjects closest to the heart of the Capitol citizens, which are the Hunger Games and themselves, and they get to do it both at the same time to the same person.

The Capitol people are waiting for me at the station entrance, I know that because the schedule was drummed into me so hard over breakfast that I am convinced I will remember it forever, and my family are already heading in that direction, accepting the limelight that association with me suddenly brings them without caring if I am there or not. I can't help imagining how different the welcome would have been for Davena if she had made it home to District Seven. And I bet little Elsah's father wouldn't have treated her with such casual indifference.

Then I stop my thoughts in their tracks. How can I be jealous of those I killed? They didn't get the chance to live their lives but I do. I have to, and then maybe they won't haunt me anymore. 'No, Cashmere,' says the nagging voice in my head. 'They will always haunt you because you killed them. You deserve the pain they bring.'.

I shake my head to clear it, sighing deeply before starting to walk again. If I don't then the Capitol people will be looking for me. Resistance is futile in the face of The Schedule, I have learned that much since they pulled me from the arena. Then I stop abruptly, not quite daring to turn around.

"Have you missed your little brother, Cashy?"

Slowly I turn back, still not quite willing to let myself believe it was his voice I heard. But who else would call me by the nickname he hasn't used since he was six years old?

He stands there on the edge of the platform, as casually perfect as I remember him, his loose-fitting white shirt spotless, his dark-brown hair falling into his eyes slightly more than it did when I left him.

I sprint the short distance to him and throw myself into his arms, laughing when he lifts me up and spins around.

"I told you I'd come back."

"I watched you all the time," he whispers. "I wanted to help you and it killed me that I couldn't be there with you. I thought she'd killed you. She fell across you and then the cannon fired. Even the commentators didn't know whose it was until they were told. They played it back over and over again."

His words come out in a jumbled rush and he still doesn't put me down, but I don't care. Now we are free and nothing else matters.

Then I am suddenly conscious of the total silence around us. I look up, still enclosed in the circle of my brother's arms even though my feet are now back on the floor, and the camera flashes start again. It looks like they finally got the shot they were waiting for. Gloss and I will be on the front page of every newspaper in Panem this evening.

* * *

It takes at least an hour to complete the five minute walk from the Justice Building where the final presentation was held to what will be my house in the Victor's Village. I can barely move because of the vast number of people, both Capitol and District, who crowd together, desperate to catch a glimpse of the newest Hunger Games victor.

"I don't see what's so special about you," says Gloss, leaning close so he can be heard above the noise and chaos that surrounds us.

I glare at him but tighten my grip on his hand at the same time. He grins back and pulls me forwards, doing his best to shield me from the crowd.

Eventually the people separate into two groups ahead of me, and my brother steps to the side so I can see the path that leads to a house which is easily bigger and grander than Father's. I have been to the Victor's Village before, as many parties are held here, but it looks different now I know that a part of it is mine and that I will never have to live under my father's roof again.

I call my brother's name in panic when his hand is pulled from mine, but he smiles reassuringly at me before the groups of reporters and cameramen swallow him up as they surge forwards.

"Go to the top of the steps and wait by the front door," instructs yet another clipboard-wielding Capitol official.

I do as she says, knowing that the sooner I have been presented with the keys, the sooner I can close the door on the lot of them. I scan the crowd for Gloss but I can't see him. After his brief reappearance, Falco has vanished again too, and I miss him even more than I thought I would, and not only because most people are too intimidated by either his position or his mere physical presence to hassle me as much as they would wish to when he is with me.

Eventually, after what feels like all eternity, I am allowed to press the key into the lock, open the door and disappear into the house with one last wave for the cameras. There will be a final ceremonial dinner back at the Justice Building tonight, but until then I will have over half a day of peace and quiet. Or not.

I hear them before I see them, and I make my way down the bright and airy corridor to the open door at the end of it to find myself in a kitchen. A kitchen that seems to be full of members of my family I have no recollection of inviting in.

"Look at this," calls Satin to my mother, gesturing wildly to a drinks machine virtually identical to the one that was in the Training Centre.

Gloss is sitting at the beautifully carved table in the corner, and when I catch his eye he shakes his head and mouths "I'm sorry. I tried."

I smile grimly at him and stride across the room towards Satin, my heels clicking sharply on the tiled floor. I snatch a gold wine glass from her hand and have to struggle not to laugh at the look on her face, which is somewhere between affronted and confused.

"This house and everything in it is mine, sister dearest," I say to her firmly, my voice telling her that the only genuine feeling behind the endearment is long-standing dislike. "So if you want to visit then it has to be with my permission and when I'm here."

She is clearly lost for words, because she gawps open-mouthed back at me. I give her one last smirk before spinning on my heel, intending to insult her further by making her leave through the back door instead of the front, only to find myself face to face with my father. I take a deep breath, immediately realising that dealing with Satin was one thing, but dealing with Father is something else entirely. I'm still determined that all I've been through won't be for nothing though, and I can tell by the look on Gloss's face that he's waiting for the fireworks to start even though my father seems oblivious.

"You have a lovely home now, Cashmere," he says, the calm, even tone of his voice immediately putting me on edge. I've heard it before, and I know it's more of a warning than shouting could ever be.

"I have, and I would very much appreciate the chance to settle in in peace," I reply, trying to match his tone.

"Of course, of course," he answers, "but surely you will be lonely here by yourself. Did you hear that the Lancasters broke off their son's engagement to that horrific Courtenay girl while you were…away?"

It takes all of my willpower not to either roll my eyes at him or hit him, but I just about manage it and stare evenly back as I reply.

"I have been slightly preoccupied," I say, realising that the fact his youngest daughter has recently killed six people so that she could save her own life, a life she very nearly lost, means nothing to him in comparison to the knowledge that the only son of the only man in District One richer than him is no longer betrothed.

"We are having a party at the house tomorrow night to celebrate your victory. The whole family will be there and the Lancasters have already accepted their invitation."

I sigh, especially when I can see Gloss laughing out of the corner of my eye. Nothing has changed here, Father is still as subtle as a sledgehammer. But I have changed. I'm not the girl who left this place to go to the Capitol those weeks ago. I control my life now, not him, and the sooner he learns that, the better.

"Stop," I say, pleased by the firmness in my voice considering how I am trembling inside. "Just stop. I can tell you right now that there's no way in Panem I'm marrying Miracle Lancaster, so you might as well stop wasting your time. If you're that keen to have him as a son-in-law then maybe he can marry Satin instead," I suggest, knowing full well that there is no way a vain, shallow and self-absorbed man like Miracle, who I have known and despised all my life, would marry my sister. He would marry me as a trophy, both for my beauty and my new fame, but he has barely ever acknowledged Satin's existence and everyone in the room knows it. "And I won't be lonely," I can't resist adding. "Because as of today, Gloss is leaving home."

My father opens his mouth to reply after glaring at my mother in response to her shocked gasp and whimpers of disappointment, which obviously result from the demise of her wedding plans for me, but he is silenced by a firm knock at the back door.

Much to my displeasure, Satin reaches for the handle and pulls it open before I can get there. My heart leaps when I hear the voice of the person on the other side.

"Where is Cashmere?" asks Falco, skipping all introductions and pleasantries with my sister and leaving me in no doubt that he was definitely listening to me as I told him all about my previous life here.

I step to the other side of my father and Falco smiles when he sees me, the expression lasting for a couple of seconds before the mask reappears as he looks to my left.

"And you must be Sleek de Montfort. I've heard so much about you that I feel I know you already," he says silkily, and for the first time in my life, I get the pleasure of witnessing my father being intimidated into dumbstruck silence.

"Yes…yes, I am. I am honoured to meet you, Mr Hazelwell," he manages eventually.

"Hmm," replies Falco, crossing the room to stand beside me, looking down at Father in a perfect picture of Capitol arrogance.

"I'm pleased to meet you too," simpers Satin, and I feel my lip curl up in disgust when she pushes past our mother to put herself in my not-quite-lover's way like a common whore.

Falco looks at her briefly and then returns his gaze to me. His smile is almost imperceptible but it's definitely there. I can tell he's enjoying this and that he knows I'm enjoying witnessing it.

"I will be returning to the Capitol shortly but I wanted to ensure that Cashmere has everything she needs before I go," he says, and it's immediately obvious that only I can tell his over-formality is deliberate.

"Thank you," says Mother, speaking for the first time. "And thank you for looking after her in the arena and finding her all those sponsors."

Falco smiles, and the shadow that briefly clouds his expression is there and gone so quickly that I almost think I imagined it. "You don't have to thank me for that," he says in a much gentler voice than he used to address my father and sister. "But I do think Cashmere would appreciate the opportunity to rest before tonight," he continues, changing tone as he speaks to everyone, making it clear that underneath the façade of false politeness, he is really telling them to get out and stay out.

Mother gets the hint first, and she does her best to guide Father and Satin out of the door. It is only when Gloss gets up to follow them that I step forwards to block his way.

"I have to go, Cash," he says softly, his eyes darting to Falco every few seconds.

Only then do I realise that when he looks at Falco, all he sees is a powerful government official straight from the Capitol who has almost limitless authority to do whatever he pleases.

"You don't," I reply with a smile when the door clicks shut behind Satin. "I want you to stay. Falco, this is Gloss. Gloss, this is Falco."

"So this is the famous brother I've heard so much about?" Falco asks me, all traces of his previous arrogant formality suddenly vanishing without a trace to leave behind only the man I know.

I nod and he extends his hand towards Gloss, who is still eyeing him with distrust.

"Please, Gloss. Falco saved my life. He's…"

'He's what?', I ask myself. 'What exactly is he to you?'. I quickly realise that I can't really answer that, but my brother must read something from my expression, because he reaches out to shake Falco's hand and all the tension in the room evaporates.

Gloss smiles at Falco as he releases his hand, but then he turns to me and pulls me against him.

"I've missed you. I didn't think you'd come back to me. I thought it would be like Sapphire all over again."

I shake my head and try to pull back so I can look up at him. He doesn't let me. "I promised you I'd come back and I always keep my promises," I tell him before continuing in a much less serious tone. "So you can let me go now. I'm not going to disappear in a puff of smoke, I promise you."

He laughs and reluctantly releases me, giving me a playful push in the direction of the storeroom that's next door to the kitchen.

"Have they left you any food? I'm starving."

"Gloss de Montfort, are you ever not starving? Some things never change."

My brother vanishes into the storeroom himself when he sees I'm not going anywhere quickly, and I smile to see him make himself so at home. He didn't respond when I told Father he wouldn't be living at home anymore, but I know my comment won't be lost on him. I just hope he agrees. I hope he still sees the Cashmere he remembers when he sees the person I am now, because I don't think I can live without him.

"I can see how much he loves you," says Falco softly, interrupting my thoughts.

I move over to stand beside him and rest my head on his shoulder. "I wish you didn't have to go. I wish you could stay here with me."

He laughs. "Believe me when I say that I wish I could stay here too, but you know I can't."

He takes my hand and leads me into the sitting room, away from the sound of Gloss ransacking the storeroom. I sit down beside him on a sofa by the huge glass doors, which have been thrown wide open to let in what little bit of a breeze there is on this stiflingly hot District One summer afternoon.

It doesn't take my brother long to reappear, carrying a tray laden with food. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly when he sees how little distance there is between Falco and I, but he says nothing as he places the tray on the table and sits down opposite us.

The next few hours pass very quickly, and though the images of the Games still return to me unless I make a conscious effort to fight against them, I find I feel a lot more relaxed now I am away from the Capitol and back home with my brother. I feel more like my normal self, or what was my normal self before the arena.

The three of us talk mostly about inconsequential things. Gloss talks about the petty politics of District One and Falco questions him, clearly taking in and storing everything my brother tells him, and then they switch roles and Falco talks while Gloss questions. I had always thought and hoped they would get on, but even I am surprised by how easily they converse and how much they seem to have in common despite how vastly different their lives are. I could listen to the two people I love most in the world talk forever, and their words wash over me, driving the nightmares of the Games away.

"Are we keeping you up, Butterfly?" asks Falco eventually, and Gloss's eyes snap to mine in response to the nickname which is already so familiar to him even though he never used it himself.

"Don't stop on my account," I reply with a smile, temporarily ignoring my brother's reaction even though I know I won't get away with it for long. "I'm quite happy here. I wouldn't mind another drink though," I add teasingly, not really expecting him to actually get up. I'm surprised when he does.

"If I'd known you were this demanding then I'd have stayed in the Capitol," he says just as teasingly.

"You've always known," I retort, smiling innocently back at him. He simply smiles back and disappears in the direction of the kitchen.

I can feel Gloss's eyes boring into me before I even look at him, so I know exactly what to expect when I finally do. His look is more one of concern than anger, just as I knew it would be.

"What are you doing?" he whispers. "And don't tell me he means nothing after what I heard him call you because I won't believe it for a second."

"He's a good man, Gloss," I tell him, not even bothering to try and lie. "I like him, love him even, and I think he loves me too."

"But he's Capitol. And he's a Hunger Games escort. Aren't there rules against there being anything between you?"

"And since when have I followed the rules, brother mine?" I reply, and even I am surprised by how much I sound like my pre-arena self when I speak.

He laughs, shaking his head in resignation. "I won't go on at you, Cashmere. You're the best judge of character I know and even I like him. And I've never seen you look at anyone like you look at him. But think about what you're doing, about who he is. You're playing with fire and I know you know it. All I ask is that you're careful."

"Gloss, I'm the older one. I'm supposed to look out for you, not the other way around," I reply with a smile.

"We look out for each other, just like always. If he makes you happy then I've no problem-"

"Gloss-"

"Let me finish," he says firmly, almost managing to keep a straight face. Almost. "What I was going to say is that I have no problem with him now, but if he hurts you then I will hurt him. I don't care if he's a Hunger Games escort, a government minister or Panem's president, nobody hurts my sister."

I laugh lightly and step forwards so I can lean against him, smiling when he instinctively puts his arms around me, just like he has done since we were young children.

"He won't hurt me. He keeps me sane."

"I thought that was my job," he replies, and I can tell instantly that he's only half joking.

"It is. I need both of you. Please, Gloss-"

He cuts me off mid-sentence again. "It's alright, Cash. I understand. As much as I can when I haven't been to the Capitol anyway. And I wouldn't want you insane. If you went mad then I'd be forced to attempt to make conversation with Satin, and then I'd soon be far less sane than you."

I laugh, loving my brother even more than I did before, mostly because that one comment makes me abruptly realise that his final words to me as he left the Justice Building after the reaping were true. It wouldn't have mattered what he saw on the screen as he watched me in the arena, he still would have kept loving me.

When Falco returns, Gloss and I say nothing of what we just said, and we sit as we were before, talking about everything but the arena. At some point I abandon my corner of the sofa to lie down with my head pillowed on a cushion which rests on Falco's lap. Gloss keeps talking without a pause, and I realise my brother has accepted my almost-lover like he accepts most new people and things in his life, which is calmly, easily and without drama. Even though I have grown up knowing it, it still amuses me how different we are.

* * *

The dawn light is filtering through the exquisitely embroidered curtains when I wake, and I find that Falco has been replaced with a note telling me that he had to leave for the Capitol before daybreak so he was back in time. The postscript is a line of numbers which confuse me initially, but that's only until I read on and he tells me the phone is in the entrance hall. I wake Gloss with the laughter which is my response to the final line, which simply reads 'my phone line is like the dining room'. I smile at the knowledge that I will be able to talk more or less freely with him and that the Capitol won't be listening in.

"Get up then," calls Gloss, speaking far too loudly for this time in the morning. "If you wake me up this early then you have to come with me to get some fresh food for breakfast."

I groan but take his hand and let him pull me to my feet anyway. "If I didn't know you better then I would begin to think you're only here for the food," I say teasingly.

"You know that could never be true," he replies seriously, linking my arm through his as he leads me to the front door before continuing in a very different tone. "Do you think you leaving the house to go to the bakery will be enough to make the front page?"

I laugh, following his lead and choosing not to talk about the past. I'm sure we will talk about the Games, and that the memories of the arena will never go away. How could I forget when I have my Victory Tour in less than six months time? But I'm determined that I won't let what has happened ruin my life. The reality of the Hunger Games is very different to what I imagined it would be before the reaping.

I am a murderer and that will never change, but if I don't live my life then the Sixty-sixth Games will claim it's twenty-fourth victim, and then everything that happened will be for nothing. I refuse to let that happen, and I can't help thinking that Gloss and Falco won't let it happen either. Between us, we will cope, because I won't let it defeat me, I will never give in. I promise.

**I was genuinely shocked and pleased at the number of you who think I should carry on with this - I'll try my best so look out for the sequel or do the author alert thing ;)**


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